Flitting Through Pages: A Reader's Odyssey
by Lady of Myth and Legends
Summary: Cate, a vivid reader & practiced writer, dreams of becoming a prominent author in her own right. But when a series of editors and publishers put her first real original work on hold, she turns to one of the few works that has always put her mind back on track. However this time around, it seems that Tolkien's world has a few plans in store for her that she wasn't quite counting on.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello Tolkien fans and welcome to my Hobbit Story, Flitting Through Pages! First off, I have been a big fan of the book since I was ten. That's when I first read it and what started my obsession with all things Middle-earth and Lord of the Rings. I did see the movie and personally, I was VERY impressed. Very well done P.J., you never disappoint!**

**Now, about this story. There are a few things to keep in mind about it. Yes, it is an OC dropping into Middle-earth. But, before you click the back button let me go into a few details. This is not intended to be a romance, though some may pop up here and there. But the OC herself will not be falling for any of the Dwarves, or Hobbits, or Elves, or anything like that. That doesn't mean that maybe some of the canon characters don't develop some conflicting emotions for her. **

**Second, my OC is Twenty-four years old. She's not going to be one of those teenage girls who just pop in for a spell, act like some damsel (though she has her moments) or some suddenly badass, kickass fighter (likewise though, she has her moments), or suddenly look like a complete bubbling idiot and gets everybody killed.**

**This is just the first chapter of the story so I can get a trial run going. If you have any questions or concerns please don't hesitate to PM me or leave a comment. Enjoy!**

**Flitting through Pages**

**Chapter One**

**Of Editors, Publishers, and Sisters**

**Beep!**

_ "We regret to inform you, Ms. Martin, that, as we have read and analyzed your manuscript, we have found that your creative views do not quite suit the needs of Morton Publishing House. However, we have compiled a list of other publishers who may, or may not, find your work acceptable. We wish you the best of luck, elsewh-"_

"I'm sure you do." The young woman grumbled bitterly as she angrily pressed the delete button on the confounding machine.

Automatically, the device skipped to the next message she had received while she had been out.

_"Catelynn Jocelyn Martin! Answer the damn phone or else I'll set every book you own on fire and scatter their ashes to the wind! I've been trying to reach you all frickin' day! Do you know how much-"_

The young woman let out an exasperated huff, rolled her eyes, and threw out a hip as her sister, who was only three years her junior, ranted on about her lack of communication skills; along with a few snide insults to her sanity and intelligence. In truth, Cate had been in a meeting with her editor for the better part of the morning and had switched her cell off in order for the discussion to remain uninterrupted. It had ended up being a very long and unproductive affair which left the young woman tired, frustrated, and now . . quite peeved.

_"-Not to mention the fact-"_

She placed a hand to her waist and began to drum her fingers against the hemline of her black jeans. She was quite accustomed to her sister's tendency to lecture her about whatever shortcomings she possessed. Mostly on issues such as Cate's habits of stating the obvious or blurting things out without fully thinking the words through. She also was prone to forget certain details at times though, thankfully, not ones of too great importance. They mostly gravitated towards how much of a certain ingredient was required in a recipe or where exactly did she leave her copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets? As an added bonus, Cate also did not possess a single, graceful bone in her body and that by itself was enough for her sister to tease.

_"-The point I'm trying to make here is that as soon as you get this, you get that ass of yours in gear and CALL ME!"_

**Beep!**

And thus the message, which more closely resembled a tongue-lashing that their mother would have given her, ended. Cate heaved a great sigh, ran the palms of her hands down her face, and groaned. She had no idea why her sister had called her, nor was she looking forward to calling her back. She really didn't need Abby jumping down her throat just for the simple thing of not answering her cell. She was stressed enough as it was. Taking a deep breath to settle her fraying nerves, the young woman deleted her sister's tirade and was relieved to find that was the last of her missed calls. She stood there for a few moments in front of the machine and briefly debated on whether or not to throw the confounded device out the nearest window. After another moment of contemplation Cate decided the thing wasn't worth the trouble.

She spun on her heel and made her way out of the little foyer towards the comfort of her favorite place in her little apartment. The second bedroom, which actually wasn't a bedroom. Rather, it was a room that just happened to house a bed as an afterthought. The room itself was small, yet in Cate's mind, it was the most beautiful and elegant room in her entire home. The reason being was that every wall, safe for the one which the tiny bed was pushed against, was covered with three, six-foot, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made of deep, cherry wood. In truth, it was these bookshelves that held the most value in the entire apartment. They were beautifully carved and filled almost entirely with (what else?) books. Only one of them was filled entirely and Cate was currently working on the second. They, and the tomes they held, were the only things that she valued more than any piece of clothing, jewelry, or furniture in the world.

As long as she had them, her world never appeared bleak for long. As long has she had her books and the stories within, she had nothing to fear. Knowledge, in her option, was the greatest gift anyone could receive or give. And she pursued it with more gusto than the ones who had introduced it to her in the first place. Her parents. They started reading to her before she was even born and that's where Cate believed the love of reading began. She could simple words when she reached the age of three but when you're that young you prefer the story read by your parents. The very first _real_ book she read by herself (Cate liked to put it like this because in truth, the first books she read were Dr. Seuss) was Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. And soon after, the rest of the series followed.

It was that particular book series that set lose her inner bookworm and from there, she devoured every piece of paper that contained the written word. And it was very rare that Cate found a book she didn't like. True there were _characters_ and _plot details_ that she didn't like (and in certain cases that was putting it mildly) but as a whole, she hadn't yet found a book that she couldn't find something good in. Even if it was just one character.

Cate gazed around at her friends (for that's what they were to her) and smiled. _This_ was her dream, her passion. To maybe, one day, place a work of her very own on these shelves and that was just what she had been attempting to do for the past six months. Though she was an avid reader, she also was a practiced writer. In her own way she supposed. She had always participated in the Young Author contest every year in school since she was in the third grade and in her fifth year, actually won first place in the entire age group (of course she didn't have the skill yet to beat the eighth graders). Ever since then, she had practiced writing her own stories and kept a folder for every one she wrote, even if it ended up unfinished.

When she entered high school, writing well became a necessity and since it was a skill she had practiced so much in grade school, she had no trouble at all breezing through all the papers that were required of her. She even participated in several essay contests and won one or two of them. If they had a topic that interested her of course. Eventually, high school ended and suddenly Cate had nowhere to go with writing. No contests to enter, no teacher to keep her work as examples, and, for the exception of a few websites, nowhere to post her work. Her love of writing had not diminished by any means, but now she was unsure of where to go with it. So she committed herself to trying to publish a real, true story. A story that was of her own making and not based off someone else's. Her very own original work.

"Meow."

The young woman, now pulled from her thoughts, glanced down only to find that her orange tabby, Kyo, was rubbing his furry face up and down her left leg. She smiled warmly down at him and leaned down to gently pick him up.

"And what," She began teasingly, rubbing her nose against his own as he made himself comfortable in her arms. "Do you want? It's not time for dinner yet."

"Reow!" The tabby replied, his big golden eyes glinting brightly.

Cate, who had lived with cats all her life, knew exactly what Kyo had meant by his last vocal exclamation.

_Does it really matter? I'm hungry!_

"You're gonna wait for dinner like everyone else Buddy-boy," Cate warned good-naturally, though the statement wasn't really a threat. "You know the rules."

Kyo just tilted his head to one side and blinked.

_Please! _His eyes seemed to plead.

Cate rolled her eyes at his antics and set the young tabby back on his four paws. "The answer is still no. Now go find your sister and play. Momma's got work to do."

By 'work' she meant that she had to call her sister and find out what was so dang important that she call her back the moment she got the message on the machine. After shooing Kyo out of the library and closing the door to ensure the cats didn't try to spring a surprise attack on her, Cate took her cell out of the pocket of her jeans and quickly dialed Abby's number. As she waited for her sister to pick up the phone, she settled herself in one of the two armchairs that sat in the middle of the room. She quickly ran a hand through her short, curly hair and sighed again for what was the tenth time that day. Finally, the phone picked up and her sister's voice flitted through the other end.

_"Finally!"_ Abby sounded exasperated as she began a whole new lecture. _"What the hell have you been doing all joor?! I thought Wednesday was your day off?"_

Choosing to ignore the use of Cybertronian vocabulary, Cate grimaced at her sister's biting tone and pinched the bridge of her nose in order to remain calm. Once she was certain she wasn't going to snap at her, she replied tersely, "I had a meeting with Ava this morning. It wasn't supposed to take all morning but it eventually ended up that way. I turned my cell off so we could work things out without any distractions."

_"Oh." _Came Abby's voice, all irritation and impatience absent from her tones. Now she sounded a bit guarded and uncomfortable, as if she was stepping into something that was a rather touchy subject. _"How'd it go?"_

Cate sighed again and in her mind, cursed the fact that it was the only thing she had done the moment she walked out of Ava's office. "As well as to be expected. She keeps trying to get me to approach this from a different angle. Says that the reason none of the publishers want the manuscript is because it's from a completely different view than what they're used to. She believes that I need to change the perspective."

From the other end Abby snorted and made of noise deep in her throat that gave off the impression that Ava didn't know shit. _"The perspective's fine Cate. There's nothing wrong with it. Ava doesn't know jack-"_

"Abby," Cate warned gently, cutting her off before she had the chance to go off on another rant. "I know, but that doesn't change the fact that none of publishers want the story. I just got a message from Morton Publishing and they basically told me in so little words the story's too radical for them. That it doesn't 'suit their needs' if I'm going by exact words."

_"Well screw 'em!" _Her sister snarled angrily, her patience for those refusing her sister's work was getting the better of her. _"They're all assholes! I don't know of anyone who can put together a better fantasy story than you! They just can't handle the new ideas surrounding it that's all! I mean, it _is_ different and most certainly not the same as everything else, but that's what makes it interesting!"_

"I don't think that's the problem Abby." Cate admonished gently, trying to calm her sister's raging temper. "I think it's because the book is portrayed in the point of view of a regular, normal person thrown into a completely different world and _not_ falling in love with a character there. Rather she does everything she can to get back home and resists the temptation of falling in love in a place she doesn't belong. It's not something that's done a whole lot and that's what puts the publishers on edge."

_"They just don't know a good book when they see one." _Abby replied, grumbling so low under her breath that Cate almost didn't pick it up.

Suddenly, there was the sound a door being slammed from the other end of the phone and Cate heard the unmistakable sound of objects being thrown about. Her brows furrowed in confusion at the racket and didn't hesitate to question just what her sister was up to.

"Abby," She drawled, a hint of caution and worry flitting through her tone. "What was that?"

_"Oh, nothing really." _Came her sister's reply, though it was obvious she was trying to skirt the issue and she sounded just a tad bit guilty. Just a little mind you, Abby wasn't one to feel particularly guilty about anything.

"Riiiight." Cate said, rolling her eyes to the ceiling and pulling her knees up to her chest so she could wrap her free arm about them. "And I'm a mountain troll. What in heaven's name are you doing over there?"

_"Amm gttig riddy or Pot Conn."_

The sentence spilled from her sister's lips so fast that she could only discern one or two of the words. Cate blinked rapidly for a moment in the effort to sort out what exactly was said, but after several seconds of having little idea of it's content she replied with, "Eh?"

_"I'm getting ready for Bot Con."_ Abby alliterated, sounding as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Cate sighed and rubbed a hand her free hand over her brow. She had all but forgotten about the Transformer Convention and her eyes drifted to the rather large calender that hung above the tiny bed across from her. There in tomorrow's date, in large red, permanent maker, read:

**BOT CON**

** Flight leaves 10:45 am**

** Meet Abby at Airport at 8:30**

Due to all the chaos surrounding her book and her lack of cooperation from her editor, Cate had placed the convention, which she had been planning on attending with Abby, who, was the biggest TransFan in the entire universe, on the back burner. That was two weeks ago. Now that the convention was finally upon her, Cate didn't know what to do. She still had an interview with another publishing company the day after they were supposed to leave and now that she thought about it, Ava had said something today about someone who could help her reassess her work.

Completely frustrated by the past two weeks of meetings, denied contracts, and shouting matches with Ava, Cate allowed a groan of despair and frustration to pass her lips. She was stressed, there was no doubt about that. She was at the end of her rope with all the roadblocks that had come up with her book and wanted nothing more, at this point, than to throw the manuscript into the living room fireplace and watch the flames devour it. She had had enough of it. In fact, maybe it would have been better if she hadn't wrote the damn thing in the first place.

_"Cate?" _Abby's rather concerned tone brought her out of her self-loathing and returned her to the conversation at hand. _"You still there?"_

"Ya, I'm still here," She sighed, rubbing the knuckles of the hand not holding the phone into her eyes in order to relieve some of the tension that lay beyond them.

_"Don't tell me you can't go."_

It wasn't often that she ever disappointed her sister with an outing or a chance to escape the roadblocks of life. In fact, it was when things got too hard, whether it be for one of them or both, they would go out and do something together and enjoy themselves. Even though Cate was now twenty-four and currently working as a manager for a local restaurant and Abby was still in college working on a degree in graphic design, they still made time to spend with each other. Though it didn't hurt that they lived only a few blocks away from each other. There had never been two sisters as close as them. In fact, those that knew them well wondered if they were actually twins instead of two sisters separated by three years.

Cate sighed (she was really getting tired of doing nothing else). She had been looking forward to the trip and her plane ticket was not refundable. Plus, Abby had been bouncing off the walls the moment she learned it was Cate who had organized the whole trip in the first place. Her sister had been preparing for this for at least two weeks, getting costumes together and lists of voice actors who she wanted autographs from. Even those who were Decepticons. She hated to let her down, but Cate didn't think this was the best of times to be going out of state to California for a Transformers Convention. Especially not with the trouble surrounding her book and the vast number of publishers who kept refusing to give it a chance,

"I don't know Abs," She stated slowly, trying her best to remain somewhat confident in her decision making. "With all the meetings, publishing issues, and . ."

She paused. Cate actually never got around telling Abby about the likely possibility of completely rewriting the book. Stripping it down to it's bare foundations and reconstructing it. If it came down to that, she may as well scrap the whole story and try to come up with something else altogether.

_"And what Cate?"_ Abby pressed, legitimate concern seeping through her normal stoic demeanor. _"What happened? And don't tell me it's nothin' cause you're a horrible liar."_

She flinched, she shouldn't have said anything. It would have been better if Abby didn't know, that way she wouldn't be disappointed when her book failed.

"Well," She began carefully, not wanting to rouse her sister's ire anymore than it already was. "There's a chance that I may have to redo the book entirely."

A deafening silence was the only response from the other end of the line and for a moment, Cate feared that Abby had canceled the call out of anger and hurt. Just as she was about to question if her sister was still there, Abby finally spoke.

_"Please tell me you're not serious."_ It didn't quite sound like her sister's normal confident air. In fact, her voice came out so low and deadpanned that Cate cringed at the fact it was she who was responsible for it becoming out of character. _"Cate, you can't be _serious_!"_

"The possibility is looking very likely right now."

_"But-!" _For the first time in Cate's life, she had actually rendered her sister speechless, confused, and most of all, tongue-tied. Never before did Abby Martin not know what to say or how to react to something. "_All those months of rough drafts! The fifteen million or so notebooks of plot developments, character bio's, the dialogue . . ! You-! You've put so much into this! You can't just-! You've spent too much time correcting every little thing, perfecting every detail! And-! And you're just gonna give UP?!"_

Cate felt her temper rise at that and immediately jumped to the defense. "I didn't say I was giving up! I said there's a chance that the book may have to be rewritten in order to be published!"

_"And you're just going to go along with it, is that it?!"_ Abby bit back harshly, her anger steadily rising. "_Just do what you're told like a good little author?! Let the world tell you how and what to write?! That's not the sister I know! The sister_ I _knew would never let someone tell her how to write! The sister _I_ knew wouldn't give a damn what the world thought, as long as she stayed true to her work! She would do everything in her power to get published, she wouldn't give up! 'Cause she doesn't know the meaning of giving up! It's not a word in her vocabulary. At least, it wasn't the last time I looked. __But maybe that's changed now, eh?"_

Cate sat stock-still in her armchair, dumbstruck by her sister's tirade. It had been quite a while since she had been chewed out in such a manner. Normally, she wouldn't let roadblocks dissuade her. What her sister had said was true. She never gave up, even if all the odds were against her. Even if there wasn't a shred of hope for her. She still stayed true to her beliefs, her morals, and whatever course she had chosen to take for herself. She would get through it, one way or another.

"You're right of course," Cate relented, a wide smile breaking across her face, even if her sister couldn't see it.

It was silly of her to be thinking of giving up so soon in the game. Getting published was tricky, it was a long hard road and not everyone would be in favor of what she had to say. But, she could do it. She had her sister who, despite her excessive teasing, tendency to slap her upside the head, and the occasional insult, always believed that she could be a great author. As long as she gave it everything she had. As long as she persevered. As long as she stayed true to what she had to say.

_"Of course I'm right!"_ Abbey huffed (Cate could just imagine her rolling her eyes at the ceiling and puffing out her chest in a show of pride). _"I'm the voice of reason, remember?"_

Cate snorted and pretended to be wounded by her sister's statement. "Oh!" She exclaimed, clutching at her breast in mock hurt. "How deeply you wound me dear sister!"

Soon the conversation escalated in playful jokes and jibes at the others expense. This went on for a better part of thirty minutes before Abby expressed that she had dinner plans with her college drama team, who were going out to celebrate their latest success in the play, Antigone. Cate smiled and wished her a good night out and warned her not to drink too much (like that was ever going to happen, Abby couldn't stand the taste of the stuff) and that if anyone did get drunk not to let them drive and so on and so forth. Her sister responded as she usually did with the 'I know's' and the 'okay, okay's'. Cate was proud that if it was one thing Abby wasn't, it was a stupid young girl who didn't have half the brain God gave a goose. Her sister was gifted with more common sense than most girls at the ripe young age of twenty-one.

After wrapping up the good-bye's and the talk-to-you-later's, Cate hung up her cell and slumped rather profoundly in her chair. She hated the fact she couldn't go to Bot Con with Abby, but at the moment she didn't need to be out of state with all the issues surrounding her book. The sooner she worked things out in that category the better. She was getting tired of dealing with editors and publishers. All she wanted was some good news on the subject. But that was in a rare quantity these days. Luckily, she had decided to take two weeks off from work at the restaurant to settle the affairs with her book. And for some added down time. She sure as hell _felt_ like she needed a vacation. Perhaps she should just take some 'me' time. Just her. But, should she go out somewhere? She definably knew she didn't want to go out of state. She didn't want to be caught off guard in case anything important happened (and with her luck, something would).

So she concluded she would stay in town. But, what to do? How to spend her time unwinding? Cate wasn't in the right mood for working out, though, she did need to slim down a bit and lose some of that belly fat, but she would worry about that later. She was at a good enough weight for the time being. So that ruled out exorcizing. Well, there was always-

From the other side of the library door, a chorus of meows and yowling signaled that it was four o'clock. Time to feed the furballs.

Heaving another sigh, Cate reluctantly got up from her seat and strode to the door. "Alright, alright already! I'll feed you. For goodness sake you two, you act as though I've never fed you a day in your lives!"


	2. The Trouble with Books

**Disclaimer (which I forgot to add last chapter): I do not own anything or anyone that comes from or has to do with Middle-earth. That honor goes to J.R.R. Tolkien (may he rest in peace), which now falls to his son Christopher Tolkien and The J.R.R. Tolkien Estate. No amount of wishing otherwise will accomplish anything.  
**

** I only own Cate, Kyo, and Arya.**

**Oh, and I just had a second thought. I think I will change the genre of the story back to my original idea and have it be an adventure/romance. That was my original plan but thought that others wouldn't like it. So yes, our heroine will fall in love with _someone_! Not sure who, but she develop feelings for one of Tolkien's creations. It could be one of the Dwarves, it could be our quaint Mr. Baggins, hmm . . . it could even be . . . Well, I'll leave that to your imagination.**

**Cate will remain in her early twenties because I don't fancy changing her age to that of a teenager. Those stories are okay, but I like to be original. Plus, I think there's more opportunities that way.  
**

**Chapter Two**

**The Trouble with Books**

**or**

**The Troubled with Dwarves**

After a rather nice dinner of spaghetti and meatballs (to which Kyo and Arya practically begged for at least one of the juicy balls of beef) and an hour of watching a CSI: Miami re-run, Cate discovered she had quite a bit of time on her hands before retiring for a good night's rest. Through she wasn't certain if she would be able to sleep at all, at least, not with the added weight of her sister's disappointment and the fact that yet _another_ publishing company had rejected her work. She had already spent way too many nights awake trying figure answers for her dilemma and by gum, she wasn't going to have another! She needed something quiet to do, yet soothing and calming. Something leisurely. Comfortable. She threw her short legs up onto the warm leather couch and reclined, tilting her head back so it rested comfortably against the armrest. Oh, it was heaven! Her favorite reading spot and position!

Immediately, Cate bolted upright as a flash of realization and excitement hit her. Read! Of course! Slapping the side of her head out of frustration for her stupidity, the redhead sprinted for the library, eager to pick something out. She had so much to choose from that she wasn't quite sure what she wanted this time around. Thriller? Adventure? Drama? Thrusting the door open with a flourish, She automatically dashed to the first bookshelf that covered the entire left side of the room. This was of course, the one that was completely full.

Cate hoisted her short frame up onto the rolling ladder that was attached to the shelve (of course she had one of these! Who doesn't when they own a set of shelves like these?!) and pushed herself off towards the other end. There was about eight levels of books in each bookshelf and each of them contained roughly about thirty or so novels, books, short stories, poems, essays, and so on. And that was on just _one_ shelve alone! She really had no idea just how many books she owned, she had lost count long ago, but there was plenty of things to submerge herself in. The problem was deciding on only one! Usually she read about three at the same time, of course, not all at once in one sitting. That would be very difficult and unpractical.

"Hmm," She hummed, running her finger over the book spines in search for whatever it was her mind craved. Before long, a book caught her attention and so, hooking the end of her index finger over it's spine, she pulled it free. Her choice this time was a copy of _The Green Mile_ by Stephen King. It was her favorite King novel and was quite a fan of the movie adaption starring Tom Hanks, who, in her opinion, was one of the most brilliant actors in existence. Along side a few choice others of course.

"Not this time King," She concluded sadly, just not getting the feeling that this was time for fetching mice and electrocutions. "Perhaps when I'm not in an already depressed mood."

She carefully put it back and resumed her search. _Harry Potter_? No, magic and defeating dark lords was not quite on her agenda. Besides, she wasn't in the fix for reading a series right now. No, she wanted a story wrapped up in one book. No series. _To Kill a Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee? Hmm, a great choice but not enough action or adventure. Though Cate loved that particular one to pieces, she wasn't getting the feeling she usually got when she found that one book to satisfy her craving. Unfortunately, Scout, Boo Radley, and Atticus were not going to solve her case this time. What about _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_? That was one she hadn't read it quite a while. Why no-?

Cate paused, the book halfway out of it's cozy little niche when something else caught her eye. On the shelf above her, bound in a deep, rich earthy leather binding and shining in gold letters, read the title: _The Hobbit_ by J.R.R. Tolkien. It was a relatively small copy, no bigger than five inches wide or seven inches tall. It was just the right size to stuff into a small handbag for on the go reading. It was light and contained a few black and white illustrations. If one opened the book to the inside cover, the first thing they would see is Thorin's map of Erebor, highly detailed with Dwarvish runes, a compass, and of course, the drawing of the Lonely Mountain herself. It was beautifully done.

If one turned to the back inside cover, they would find yet another map. This one depicting the Wilderland and all that resided in it. From the Misty Mountains all the way to Mirkwood (previously known as Greenwood the Great), not to mention everything in between. This map too, was highly detailed and full of illustration. This was, by far, one of Cate's favorite book designs, not to mention the actual story! From the leather binding, to the gold edging of the pages, to the maps and illustrations, oh she could go on forever about what she loved by just _looking_ at the book!

If Cate recalled correctly, she hadn't picked up the book in quite a few years. Of course, that didn't mean she didn't like the book. In truth, it was one of her personal favorites. But, like all avid readers, she was always eager for something new and untouched, always in search for things she'd never read before or just developed an interest in. As a result, _The Hobbit_ had taken a back seat in her reading life and hadn't been rediscovered until now. Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to dear old Mr. Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield again. Oh yes, it was a visit long overdue indeed.

Climbing down from the ladder, the young woman drifted back to the living room with the little book in tow. She was really excited about seeing the Company again and the Elves of Mirkwood and Beorn and, well, everyone else! Resuming her previous position on the couch, Cate leaned back and allowed herself a deep breath. Just as she opened the book to the title page, a sudden, yet not uncomfortable, weight settled down upon her stomach. She raised the book higher so as to see what was causing it, when she saw an all too familiar pair of blue eyes staring across from her.

"Hello Arya," Cate stated fondly, letting go of one half of the book to stroke the feline's furry cheek. "Do you want to hear a story too?"

The little creature gave a rather loud purr and closed her eyes as the young woman scratched under her chin and then back behind her ears.

Cate chuckled softly at the cat's reaction. "Alright, but I'm going to need my hand back. I can't read to you if I can't turn the pages."

There was the soft patter of furry feet and then Kyo suddenly appeared on the back of the couch right above her head, a rather cross look on his face.

_You didn't honestly think you were going to start without _me_, did you?_

The redhead had to tilt her head back a little farther in order to meet his highly displeased expression that made her feel almost guilty. Almost. She had no intention of starting the book without him, even if Arya wasn't in the least bit patient. Since Cate had raised both cats since the were born, they quickly adjusted to her lifestyle and boundaries. Books were to be respected at all times, they had learned from an early age. For heaven forbid if one of them decided it was a midnight snack or a chance to sharpen their claws (which neither cat no longer possessed). Mommy reading to them was a treat, especially now that she was so busy with writing a story of her own. Which they both were well versed in and gave opinions on as they saw fit. They enjoyed listening to her read just as much as any four or five-year-old did.

"Kyo," Cate admonished gently. "You should know by now that Mommy's not going to start the story without you. Story-time is for everyone_ including_," She emphasized, turning her gaze to Arya who immediately ducked her head in shame. "Late brothers. Now," She continued, wiggling slightly to get comfortable again. "Is everybody ready? We all comfortable? Are we too hot or too cold?"

Both cats flicked their tail in unison, signalizing that they were bedded down for the time-being and wouldn't need anything for the next few hours.

"Very well, let's begin." Turning her attention back to the story at hand, she opened the book to the title page and read aloud. "_The Hobbit or,_ _There and Back Again_, by J.R.R. Tolkien."

At the sound of the title, the two frisky feline's began to purr in contentment and closed their furry little eyes to listen. Cate flipped the page and began to read.

"In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat; it was a hobbit hole, and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door . . ." **1***

**_. . . Elsewhere, in the grand scheme of things . . ._**

Bilbo Baggins decided he had quite enough of Dwarves to last him for the rest of his life. Everywhere he turned they were pulling food from the pantry, raiding the wine barrels in the cellar, and using his great-grandmother's doilies as dishcloths! Full of holes indeed! He just couldn't keep up with them! Never before had he so many visitors all at once (twelves Dwarves and a wizard!) but they most certainly were not the best as far as manners or tact were concerned. He was constantly chasing after them, reminding them that Mungo's chair was not for sitting on because of its age or that his mother's glory box was not to be used for removing mud from one's shoes.

"Bebother and confusticate these Dwarves!" Bilbo growled frustratedly as he clutched at his hair in the hallway. Not far down from his place in the hall he heard another chorus of laughter and roaring echoing from the dinning-room; signaling that the Dwarves had done something he probably didn't quite want to know the details of. Oh, how his head ached!

"My dear Bilbo," Came a voice from way above the hobbit's head. "What in all of Arda is the matter? I should think that a respectable hobbit such as yourself would enjoy the company of others and here you are hiding in the hallway! Good gracious!"

The hobbit tilted his head back so as to properly address the speaker and found himself staring into the gray eyes of the Grey Pilgrim himself. Feeling rather flustered at someone discovering his displeasure over the whole event, especially the wizard, Bilbo simply shook his head harshly in order to clear his thoughts and tried very hard not to appear unkind.

"I'm afraid I don't see the method in all of this at all, Gandalf." He began, ringing his hands nervously and looking quite upset. "What are they doing here? What do they want? Besides my bread and my wine and my seed-cakes, my cheese, my sausages, the jam, and pray don't mention that all my best ale is about near gone!"

Now, as Bilbo was going about naming his list, his voice rose steadily higher and higher until it cracked rather horribly and he nearly chocked on his next breath of fresh air. He gave a small sputter as he tried to regulate his breathing and by the time he had, one of the Dwarves suddenly appeared before him, a small yellow dish in his knitted, gloved hands.

"Excuse me sir," The Dwarf began politely, though looking a bit shy and unsure of himself. He nodded his head at the plate in his hands, sending the already fraying braids of his head and small beard further into disarray. "What shall I do with my plate?"

Bilbo, who unfortunately had forgotten the Dwarf's name in all the confusion, was pleasantly surprised by his change in manners and opened his mouth to answer when a different voice cut in.

"Here Ori," Called one of the Dwarves (this one was blonde and possessed a set of braids behind and before either of his ears and had both ends of his mustache braided) as they approached and snatched the yellow dish from the one who's name was apparently Ori. "Give it to me."

Before the hobbit had time to protest, the golden-haired Dwarf tossed the plate down the hall to another Dwarf (was it Mili? Or perhaps Dwili? Oh! He couldn't remember!), who almost missed the piece of pottery entirely. Catching on to what his companion had in mind, the dark-haired one sent the plate flying down another hallway where someone at the other end caught it effortlessly. Bilbo immediately felt a sense of panic overtake him at seeing these Dwarves manhandle his mother's earthenware.

"That is my mother's West-farthing pottery!" He squeaked, pointing a shaking finger the dark-haired Dwarf and gesturing fervently for him to set it down before he chipped the delicate china. "It's over a hundred years old!"

However, either the Dwarves did not hear him properly or they simply decided to ignore him, they continued tossing and throwing about his dishes in spite of his protests. Then, by the example of the dark-haired Dwarf, they escalated from throwing and tossing the tableware to bouncing the pottery off their elbows and knees as if they were balls to be played with! Poor Bilbo didn't have a chance to stop the abuse to his dishes before a ruckus of a different sort started up in the dinning room off to his right.

When the hobbit turned to discover what sort of new mischief the Dwarves had found themselves in, Bilbo witnessed that four of them were clashing their forks and knives against those opposite of them. They had started up a kind of rhythm, pounding their feet upon the floor and every now and then thumping the butts of the utensils against the tabletop. If it wasn't for the further abuse of his possessions, Bilbo would have thought the rhythm rather intriguing. However, the Dwarves were using his silverware as instruments and he had just about enough of their foolishness.

"Please put them down!" He said rather heatedly, not in the slightest bit amused at their antics. "You will blunt them if you keep at it!"

"Ooh!" One of the Dwarves on the left side of the table, a rather silly looking character in Bilbo's opinion, exclaimed mockingly, not appearing in the least bit guilty. Instead, he looked about the room at the rest of his fellows and said, "Did ya hear tha' lads? He says we'll blunt the knives."

With that being said, the dark-haired Dwarf, who was still bouncing pottery off his knees and feet, started up a tune from his place in the hall. "_Blunt the knives, bend the forks . . ._"

"_Smash the bottles and burn the corks . . ."_ The blonde at the opposite end added his own line while bouncing a bowl off his elbow and sending it to his dark-haired companion, who in turn tossed it to someone who was standing in the kitchen by the sink.

"_Chip the glasses and crack the plates!_"

Soon all the Dwarves were singing and Bilbo Baggins found that he could do nothing but watch helplessly as all the Dwarves began to throw about his pottery and silverware. Several of them had even gone so far as to collect their respective instruments from their packs in the hall and take up the tune the dark-haired one had started in the first place.

The poor hobbit feared that a very long night of frayed nerves, smashed earthenware, and a quite possibly destroyed hobbit-hole, lay before him.

**I think that's about it for now. Leave a review in the box below if you please. Don't worry though, Cate will get her adventure. Give it time.**

**1*** - The exact opening lines taken from The Hobbit as told in the book. As such, this particular section I do not own.


	3. Where will Life take You?

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone that comes from or has to do with Middle-earth. That honor goes to J.R.R. Tolkien (may he rest in peace), which now falls to his son Christopher Tolkien and The J.R.R. Tolkien Estate. No amount of wishing otherwise will accomplish anything.  
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** I only own Cate, Kyo, and Arya.**

**Short chapter again this time around. I'm sorry for that, but I'm actually supposed to be working on a different story at the moment which needs only a few more chapters before it's finished. I know the few people who have been following this story so far are eager for it to get off the ground, but I really need to finish the other story which is so close to being completed. As such, I may or may not update FTP (Flitting Through Pages) for a while. Please don't get the idea that I no longer care about this story, I do. Very much so. But this other story was on my list first and has been at the forefront of my mind as of late. As soon as that story is taken care off, I shall return. The latest you readers may have to wait is a month. The earliest? Um . . I'm not sure exactly.  
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**My muse is a strange and unique thing. Who knows, I may even be able to update at the end of next week. No promises though. Life has a way of catching me off guard and putting my writing on hold. Point is, I'll update as soon as I'm able, not before. But please, enjoy this chapter, even though it's much shorter than what I would usually write.**

**Chapter Three**

**Where will Life take You?**

Cate wasn't sure when she noticed it, but by the time she had reached the part where the Dwarves were singing about chipping poor Bilbo's plates and pouring milk on his pantry floor, a part of her swore she heard music playing faintly in the distance. As if it's origins was somewhere far away and yet could still be heard. Of course, that was ridiculous. She hadn't left her sound system on in her room or had her radio going in the kitchen. The house was silent except for the sound of her voice reading aloud. There was no music. Besides, neither Kyo or Arya, who were now curled up on the back of the couch sleeping on one another, hadn't reacted all to the supposed melody.

_'It must be because I'm so into the book. I'm becoming too immersed.'_

At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

She read on, ignoring the music a small part of her she swore she heard and tried to focused on the story at hand. However, she had not read very far before her attention waned again when a new sound echoed faintly from somewhere in the room. Laughter. Roaring laughter. It sounded as though there was a great number of people about talking and laughing amongst themselves, yet Cate couldn't make out a word. She heard it. She swore she did, but she couldn't understand what was being said. Or, if anything was being said at all.

_'What in the world _is_ that?' _

Now she was becoming concerned. First music, now laughter? It didn't make any sense. She was here, in her apartment, alone. Again, Cate looked over at the sleeping felines to see if they had made any notice of the laughter but they were still as could be, both sound asleep. Shaking her head at the two sleeping cats, Cate tried to find reasonable answers for what she was hearing. She knew she hadn't left her radio on and her TV, which was off to her right, was off. From inside her home, there was nothing to cause the music or the laughter.

Perhaps her walls were thin and someone across the hall or next door was having friends over. Yes, that was the most probable scenario. It was coming from outside her home, not from within. It was either that or she was imagining the sounds, but as vivid as her imagination was, Cate wasn't one to pretend to hear things. She could be completely creative and abstract on paper and still be relatively down to earth.

Picking up where she left off, Cate tried to block out the faint sounds of music and laughter. But, as she read further and further into the next few pages, something else happened. The sounds that had once been faint, nay impossible to hear unless you strained to do so, amplified. They began to grow louder and louder, until suddenly the room was filled with the sound of laughter and flutes. Cate put down the book and jumped to her feet in a flourish, twisting and turning about in search for the source of the racket. But as soon as she had jumped up from her couch, the noise suddenly stopped. An eerie silence began to creep over her and she felt that whatever it was may not all be in her mind after all.

Slowly, Cate sat back down on the couch and carefully picked up the book again. She didn't know what was going on but she was determined to ignore it and pay it no mind. She wasn't sure what was causing the noises, but she wasn't going to go looking for them, afraid of what she might find if she did so. Instead, she opened the book to where she left off and focused every fiber of her being on the written words. She wasn't going to let the noises distract her.

However, the moment Cate relaxed and felt comfortable again, the noises returned. This time, it wasn't just music and laughter. There was the sound of pounding feet, the clash of metal against metal, dishes clacking against dishes, and the intense aroma of tobacco hung in the air. Cate felt her lungs burn as she breathed and her eyes began to water. She wasn't fond of smoking, mostly because she was actually allergic to it. Her head began to spin and she clamped a hand to her brow in order to steady herself. The book slipped from her fingers and landed across her thighs, face down upon the page in which she had stopped. Why was she smelling tobacco? Where was it coming from? And the noises! It felt as they were pounding against the inside of her skull!

In dire need of a drink of water, Cate swung her legs out and went to stand up when something caught her eye. _The Hobbit_, which was still in her lap, began to glow. Cate's brows furrowed in confusion. The book wasn't supposed to do that. Books didn't suddenly start glowing, especially not with a strange blue aura around it. Unsure of what exactly to do with a suddenly glowing novel, Cate carefully picked it up by it's spine and flipped it over so the cover was facing up at her. Immediately, she realized it was a mistake.

The cover suddenly flipped open by itself and the pages of the book began to flit at an alarming speed. The strange blue aura that surrounded the book's edges, began increase intensely, nearly blinding her with its light. Startled at seeing the book acting on its own, and in such as strange and highly impossible way, Cate cried out in surprise and tossed the book away from her where it flew across the room and landed face up on some random page in the middle of the living room floor. Breathing heavily from her encounter, not to mention shaking so badly she thought her hands were going to fall off, the redhead sat wide-eyed upon her couch trying to figure out what on earth just happened. Never before had one of her books glowed and never had one of them displayed tendencies to open on their own and flip their own pages. It was impossible!

_'That . . was not real.' _Cate thought, still stunned. _'You're imagining things, Cate. Books don't glow. Books don't open by themselves. You've been drinking waaay to much coffee lately. Stressed! That's it! You're just stressed from all the meetings and rejections about the book. You're so bent out of shape, that you're starting to imagine things now. You're tired. You need to sleep. In the morning, you'll feel much better.'_

Taking a deep breath, and trying to appear much braver than she felt, Cate slowly stood up and approached the book, circling around it for a minute or two in order to make sure it didn't try anything else out of the ordinary. Once she was sure the novel wasn't going to suddenly jump up and bite her or glow or do anything else, she bent down and slowly picked it up. She immediately shut her eyes the moment she touched it and held it as far away from her as possible.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Cate cracked an eye. Nothing. No glowing. No sudden movement. No razor sharp teeth ready to remove her hand in the next millisecond. Nothing. Nothing at all. Just a normal, leather bound edition of _The Hobbit._

"Whew!" Cate laughed nervously, bringing the book closer and giving it a small pat. "And here I thought- ARGH!"

The book began to vibrate violently in her hands and before she had the chance to toss it away for a second time, the cover flipped open once more and the glowing blue aura returned brighter than the previous episode. Cate didn't know exactly on what page the book stopped, but when it finally did, the bluish aura began to pulsate. A crack of white light began to split down the crease between the two pages and before Cate could even think of letting go, she felt herself being drawn into it.

A moment later, Kyo and Arya awoke to find that Mommy was gone and the story that she had been reading was lying face up on the living room floor. Knowing that leaving a book on the floor was unheard of in the household, both felines jumped from their place on the back of the couch and went in search for mom. But, after spending a good twenty to thirty minutes searching, they found no trace of her.

Mom was gone.

* * *

A lone figure stood at a small crossroads. Dark was the hour for night had fallen long ago and the stars that glinted high above his dark head shone like diamonds ready to be extracted from the dark stone that once he had called his home. The figure was short in stature, but broad and built for heavy, hard work, yet his presence was near stiffing. At a distance he seemed no more important than the ordinary folk who lived in the area, but come much closer and one would find it was not so. However, for all his importance and overwhelming presence, the figure, though he would never admit it aloud, was lost.

For the better part of the day he had wandered, searching for the one place he could not seem to reach or find. The one who had directed him to this place, this Shire, had not been as clear as he should have been when giving directions. The figure was not pleased at being made a fool. With his luck, the other members of his party would have made it without trouble, leaving him to be the finale arrival. Which, to him, was of no concern. Plans could proceed no further without him, thus, the others would wait. Besides, punctuality had never been his forte. However, that did not mean he enjoyed being lost or made to feel turned around. He despised weakness of any sort, especially of himself.

"Curse Gandalf!" The figure growled out of frustration, peering down at the map in his hands and back up at the signpost which was marked respectably: To Hobbition, To Bywater, To The Water, and To Waymeet.

He had come down from the mountains by taking the Old North Road, which then turned south onto another, whose name he had quite forgotten and had no intention of remembering, and had traveled fair enough until now. The broad figure stood there, in the dark of night, squinting up at the sign post, trying to remember which way the wizard had told him to go. Was it left, where Bywater and Hobbiton lay? Or was it right, towards The Water and Waymeet? What was the name of the Mahal-forsaken village anyway?! The only piece of information his memory still recalled was the name Baggins, Bag-end, and a place called The Hill. Those who lived in these rolling hills had no sort of sense what-so-ever. Who in their right mind would name a place The Hill? And what, dare he ask, was a Bag-end?

Hobbits, the figure concluded, were strange creatures indeed.

After another moment or two of indecision, confusion, and down right anger at being unable to discern which way to turn, the figure finally decided to hang it all and go left. If he was wrong, the wizard would pay for it later. That is, if he was ever able to find the blasted Istari again. So on the figure went, hefting his pack higher on his shoulders and rearranging his weapons, both hidden and displayed, so as not to accidentally wound himself.

"Mahal above," The figure muttered darkly under his breath, white wisps fluttering to the breeze in the cool summer air. "This burglar had better be worth all that wizard had promised. I will not stand for wasted effort."

**Sooo? How was it? I hope I introduced Thorin in a decent light, even though at the moment he's not in the best of moods. I really am concerned with not getting his mannerisms right. He is a very difficult character to write and having him stay in character is sort of a challenge for me. I hope his dialog was reasonable and if not, some help on the matter would be appreciated. If there appears to be any sort of real issues with the characters, don't hesitate to tell me. I want them as close to the book (and the movie in some sense) as can be. I can't fix my mistakes if you don't tell me. **

**Though please, only tell me if you see a REAL issue. I won't stand for things like "There's not enough romance" or "Those two need to be married" or things along those lines. The plot with unfold the way I see fit and developments will happen in their own time. This story isn't going to be some quick little romance fling. If that's what you're after, there's plenty other stories out there that will satisfy you. This story is NOT one of those.**

**However, if you want a story that has just the right amount of romance without over shadowing the actual adventure to Erebor and goes at a reasonable pace, by all means, stay. If you want to see a story about a girl from our world who has to learn to adapt to a whole new world not like her own, stay. If you want a story that delves into how to trust those who you have never met but must entrust your life to in order to survive, please stay. And if you're looking for a story, that in the end, shows what true friendship stands for, please, by all means, STAY.**

**This story is going to be a long and difficult road for Cate, yet her story is one I feel must be told. If only so a handful of people can see it. To WackyWillow and Lady Dunla, you both already know what this story means to me. This is NOT about a Mary-sue. The whole point to this story isn't really, in a sense, love. It's about finding about who you are and what you stand for. It's about finding friends even in the most unlikely of places. It's about finding strength!  
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**I believe I've ranted for long enough. Please leave me a review in the box below and I hope to get back to you soon.**


	4. Lost and Found

**Alright everyone, the votes are in. Sort of. **

**Most of you have given me the go ahead to write this story the way I see fit and to follow my gut feelings about the plot and the characters in it. The other percentage gave me reasons, very good ones as well, as to why they would like to see Romance or Friendship. Now, I believe I have reached a compromise that I myself am satisfied with. This story is going to focus more on Adventure/Friendship/Family with also a bit of romance thrown in. Cause after all, life has everything. It's not just one type of genre. This will give me sooo many opinions to play with and won't narrow down the way my story with unfold. I wish to give a special thank you to all those who responded to my plea for advice. **

**LadyDunla: You are right, I must remain true to my story in my own way or else it will no longer be mine. I have enough writer's block as it is and if I continue to write this story based on the public's demands then I will only end up digging myself into a deeper hole. Thank you so much for supporting my work no matter which genre this story takes. You have my utmost respect and I hope I will not let you down.  
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**Littlelots: Laugh out loud! Yes, I am now indeed calm. I wish to thank you personally for supporting my desire for a Friendship/Adventure story. And you are quite right, this story is just now getting off the ground, it may end up as a romance later on. Though, much later I hope. I don't fancy romance starting just as someone falls into Middle-earth. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and hope you will stay with me till the end. Many thanks!  
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**Rae01: I really am thrilled that my story has intrigued you even though it has only three chapters. That really means a lot to me because that tells me I'm able to capture people's attention without giving the whole plot away from the get-go. It's alright to be a sucker for Romance/Adventure stories. I am too for that matter. I also am glad to find that you agree with females being able to have really good guy friends who respect you and care for you without having to date. There are many levels of love. You can love someone without being IN love with someone. Savy? Good. I plan on taking your advice as far as the Romance goes and having more of the nice little Awww! scenes more towards Mirkwood than right up front. I personally agree that romance takes time to develop and in my opinion, Mirkwood would be the place and time to do it.**

**bird89: Thank you oh so very much for enjoying the story! I'm glad to see that you find my writing style enjoyable and well written. I tend to be a Grammar Nazi because I care so much about punctuation and spelling. Without a good foundation in English, one's story will fail. You can have the best plot and character development and still flop because your grammar and punctuation and vocabulary usage do not match up or are poorly done. I'm also happy to see that you don't take a stance either way on the story's genre. Though, I do value opinions, it's good to see that I have readers who will be happy no matter what I chose. I'm also glad to see that you also like the idea of having just about everything thrown in, because you are right, life isn't just one genre. It has everything and that means more opportunities to expand my plot-line and gives me more choices. Thanks so very much!  
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**I do believe I have spent enough time babbling and I know you all are eager to continue with the story. READ ON MY FRIENDS!**

**Chapter Four**

**Lost and Found  
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As it so happened, a slight drizzle began to fall not long after the dark figure set out once again in his search for the rest of his company. By the time he came to the next set of crossroads, it was pouring. Not only was he still unsure of his direction, but now he was soaked to the bone, cold, and quite hungry. A deadly combination that was soon to spell disaster for his mood. To which, it was already too late. His deep blue eyes were alight with thunder and his mood had become blacker than the dark heavens that hung high above him. He was in a right foul temper.

The figure threw up the hood of his dark cloak, cursing himself that he had not done so before, in order to prevent the rain from further seeping into his clothes and hair. Luckily, he wore many layers of clothing, including a jerkin consisting of geometrical metal plates that served as a form of armor that was worn beneath a sleeveless fur cloak. A garment which he wore beneath his traveling cloak. So, in the long run, he was not as worse for wear as his mind conveyed. Though, his position of being lost and now caught out in the rain was not helping matters in his frame of mind. What he would give for a hot meal and a roaring fire! A nice draw of a mug of ale would also be heavily welcomed.

The figure shook his head roughly, sending a shower of raindrops from his dark, waterlogged hood and scattering them to the muddy road beneath his booted feet. He had not the time to daydream of comforts. The sooner he found this Baggins and Bag-end, the better. Then he could take the time for some much needed luxury.

Glancing up at the signpost he found there was only two names presented: Hobbiton, which pointed left towards northeast, and Bywater, which lay in the direction of southeast. His eyes furrowed in deep confusion and gritted his teeth in frustration. Which way? Pulling back the folds of both his traveling and fur cloaks, he withdrew one of the few maps he carried and squinted intensely in the faint light so as to make out its details. Tracing a forefinger over his marked route, he began to calculate as to where exactly his destination resided and just how much farther he would have to continue in order to reach it. Nodding stiffly to himself in some small way of satisfaction, the traveler concluded that, judging by what little the wizard had told him, his destination lay off to the left.

Replacing the map back to its rightful spot, the figure drew his cloaks tighter around himself and trudged off in the direction of Hobbiton. He prayed by rock and stone it wouldn't be much further. He found absolutely no pleasure in wandering about in the dark during a rainstorm.

* * *

Bilbo wasn't sure if it was possible to be this infuriated. The moment he stumbled into his dinning room in pursuit of several of the dwarrows, who were still tossing about his mother's dishes back and forth, he found that every single piece of pottery and silverware he owned was piled in neat stacks upon his dinning room table. Not a one had the slightest chip or crack of any sort. All the Dwarves were crowded about its edges, guffawing and chortling at his expense and the expense of the earthenware. Gandalf, who had found a rather comfortable spot at the foot of the table, was struggling in vain to hide a wide, cheeky grin of his own.

"Bilbo," The gray wizard greeted with a nod of his gray head, unable to stop a small chuckle. He spread his hands wide, careful so as not to hit any of the Dwarves who were in close proximity with him, and gave a small shrug to symbolized his innocence.

The hobbit, who was not one to let such outrageous behavior on the Dwarves part go unnoticed, took a deep breath and was just about to voice his displeasure of the antics of Dwarves, when there came the heavy thud of someone knocking at his door. Three solid, loud hits immediately silenced the ruckus, causing those in the room to suddenly stiffen and properly compose themselves. Judging by the Dwarves sudden change in body language, Bilbo could tell that whoever was at the door had a very low tolerance for nonsense and mischief.

_'And rightly so.' _He thought to himself, feeling just a bit smug that someone could rein the blasted characters in. _'Now perhaps some order will be restored.'_

"It appears," Gandalf began quietly, his voice soft and low and his tone rather too mysterious for Bilbo's liking. "He has finally arrived."

"H-he?" The hobbit stammered, not at all sure if this was the sort of person he should let into the house. By the way the wizard spoke of this character, Bilbo wasn't quite certain if he meant good or if his arrival was the coming of a whole different sort of disaster.

"Yes, yes, yes." The Grey Pilgrim answered rather impatiently, waving his hand at the poor hobbit. "Now, be the pleasant host hobbits are known for and do invite him in. I don't suppose he'll be pleased at being left on the doorstep."

Mumbling low under his breath about bugger being a host to a pack (he really didn't know what to call a group of Dwarves and quite frankly, he didn't care to) of Dwarves who manners where worse than his relatives the Sackville-Baggings', Bilbo made his way to the front door. However, he was unaware that the rest of his guests, plus the wizard, had followed in order to greet their late companion. Placing his hand around the latch, Bilbo sucked in a deep breath and hoped to high heaven that whoever was on the other side of the door was far more agreeable than the rest of his very rambunctious guests. Mustering the most pleasant and polite smile he could, the hobbit flipped open the latch and opened the door wide.

Unfortunately for Bilbo, he was met with someone who was anything but agreeable.

* * *

He had never known there to be any sort of creature smaller than himself. At least, so he had thought. Yet, standing before him, was a little man. Or what he would have mistaken for a man if not for the overly large feet (which bore no shoes of any kind and were covered with dark, curly hair) and that the creature's ears were slightly pointed. Inwardly, he grimaced. This could not possibly his burglar. He would not, under any circumstances, have some Elf-creature accompanying him on a quest to reclaim his homeland. Never. He would sooner cut off his braids than have some relation to Elves as part as his company.

Still, despite his inward feelings of disgust and doubt, he kept his facial expression stony and unreadable and immediately turned his gaze to the one person in the doorway that he deemed addressing.

"Ah, Gandalf." He inclined his head slightly and stepped through the open door, not giving the little creature, who barely had time to move out of his path, a second glance. Instead, he kept his sharp gaze fixed upon the graying elder. "If I recall correctly, you relayed to me that this Bag-end was no trouble to locate. I lost my way. Twice."

Under normal circumstances, he would never blatantly tell another he was lost or had any sort of trouble locating a meeting place. But, these were not normal circumstances. He had a company to lead and a quest to complete. He could not afford delays. And by the wizard's lack of proper instruction to the Shire, he had been delayed. He did not tolerate those who would make him a fool. So, in order for the wizard understand the importance of this mission, he would have to reprimand him. Also, he took note, his men stood present to greet him. He needed to appear in control of the situation. If anything to assert his position as leader.

"Oh," The wizard consoled, though not sounding, nor looking, at all in the least bit apologetic. "I am sorry. I seem to forget that not all are familiar with this area. Very few others beside myself journey this way, you know."

He gave Gandalf a withering look, though the wizard took no notice of it, and began to untie his waterlogged traveling cloak. At least the rain had stopped halfway before he finally reached the Mahal-forsaken place. He had been able to dry out somewhat.

"I would not have found it at all if it had not been for the mark upon the door." He retorted shortly, giving the garment a few good shakes to relieve it of any remaining water before hanging it upon on of the many pegs that lined the hallway. "To which I would every much like to learn how you came to know of it."

He watched as Gandalf seemed to contemplate answering his question but before the wizard could reply, or to form a reasonable defense, the little creature who had been standing by the door finally spoke.

"There is no mark on that door." The little man insisted, abet, a bit shakily and his eyes wandered about not quite looking at anyone in particular. "I painted it a week ago myself and I am quite certain you have come to the wrong house."

He raised a dark brow at the funny creature. It appeared that it took great pride in the furnishings of it's home. The dark-haired Dwarf was just about to rebuke it for it's lack of respect when Gandalf intervened. The wizard bend down to it's level and addressed the little man in a soft, yet stern voice.

"Of course there is a mark, my dear Bilbo." Said the wizard, though, not unkindly. "I placed it there myself. As for the Dwarves here, I'm afraid they _are_ in the right house."

He was starting to get the impression that the little man had no idea just what he had gotten himself into or if he had any idea at all. In fact, it seemed to him that it was the _wizard_ who had made the decision for the creature's involvement. Yes, that sounded a bit more reasonable. He did not see the little man as anything more than a grocer to be frank, let alone a burglar. If he was a betting Dwarf, and he most certainly did nothing of the sort, he would have guessed that the only thing the creature had ever stolen was a piece of note paper or perhaps, a spare quill. He wouldn't last a day out in the Wilds, let alone against Smaug himself.

"Now," Started Gandalf, rising to his full height, or a full as he could granted in the limited amount of ceiling space. "I do believe proper introductions are in order. Yes, yes. Bilbo Baggins," The wizard addressed the little man who immediately straighten himself and gave his full attention to the wizard. "Allow me to introduce, the leader of the Company of Dwarves, and soon yourself, Thorin Oakenshield."

He pulled himself to his full height at the sound of his name and drew his arms across his chest, accessing the shorter figure. He looked him up and down taking in every inch of the little creature's physical capabilities, which was not much if he was honest. His arms were too thin and had very little muscle to them. He wouldn't be able to lift a sword let alone an ax. He seemed a bit round about the belly, but he knew from experience that meant very little. Balin, for example, was still in some of the best shape of his life despite his prominent age and portliness. Bombur, on the other hand, could stand to lose a few pounds, but there had been times, he had heard, not witnessed, where his profound weight had proved useful.

Still, he found very little about the creature that seemed at all worth the trip.

"So," He regarded, giving the little man a hard stare as he continued to analyze him. "This is the hobbit."

**Again, short chapter I know. But, I wanted to post my response to everyone's help and make my decision based on the story's future as soon as possible. And I wanted to do it without having to post another stupid author's note and disappoint everyone with the lack of actual storytelling. Be that as it may, I still like this section of work as a chapter by itself. It gives you as readers more time to be with The Hobbit characters without someone who most certainly does not belong there around. It allows you to connect with Bilbo and Gandalf and Thorin for a bit.**

**Which, I personally, enjoy doing. Do not worry though, the other Dwarves will have more screen time as this progresses. It's just way too hard to do every single Dwarf right from the get-go you know. I can't suddenly dive down into each of them right from the start. One it's too much information up front I think and doesn't allow you time to process things and two, it's waay too much for me to do at one time. So I started with the three main characters that the story mostly surrounds. Bilbo, Gandalf, and Thorin. Now that you have had time to get to know them pretty well, I'm going to start working on the other Dwarves too.**

**I just needed some time to flesh a few people out first so you could get a handle on what they're like. I hope everyone is satisfied with my decision on the story's genre and also with this small little chapter to ponder about. Next time, Cate meets the Dwarves. And in a way that no one has ever meet them before. In a certain sense at least. **

**Please leave me a review in the box below and PM me if you have any questions or concerns that you feel need to be brought to my attention. Thank you all so much for your support and dedication. Good Night!**


	5. Of Discussions and Unexpected Arrivals

**Hello everyone and welcome back to another chapter of Flitting Through Pages! I wish to thank all of you again for your help and support and hope that you enjoy this next installment. However, there is one important change that I have made regarding some of the Dwarves in this story, but I feel it is a change made for the better.**

**Ori is no longer the youngest of the company. In the book, it doesn't states just how old his is at the time of the Quest to Erebor (though I probably could find the information somewhere but I'm not sure where to look), but I have now returned the position of youngest Dwarf over to Kili, who is the younger brother of Fili. Ori, however, will still remain amongst the younger Dwarves, so he will fall under being the THIRD youngest. In this, I rather follow Tolkien than the movie. If this upsets anyone, I'm sorry but I'm just following the book in this regard. **

**Now, TO ARMS!**

**Note: The difference between Men and men. **Men **is in reference to the Race of Men or humans, while **men **is used by Dwarves and Elves in relation to their armies or in this case, the Company of Dwarves.**

**Chapter Five**

**Of Discussions and Unexpected Arrivals  
**

Bilbo Baggins had never been addressed in such a harsh and degrading tone before. In fact, in Hobbiton and on The Hill, he was quite respected and admired. He was the model hobbit for all. For this Dwarf, this Thorin Oakenshield to come into his own home and speak so plainly about him as if he was nothing more than a boy still in his tweens, well, it was not a pleasant feeling. Not at all. Especially since he was at the ripe, wonderful age of fifty years. That would be around middle age for a hobbit you know.

It was obvious that the Dwarf was of relative importance, Bilbo could tell just by his bearing and quite haughty attitude, for his presence alone seemed to fill the entire entrance-way of Bag-end. He was roughly about a half a foot taller than himself, which would put the Dwarf somewhere around four-foot-six, give or take an inch or two. Poor Bilbo was only four feet tall and that was saying something of hobbits. He was one of the tallest in all the Shire. However, it seemed that anything he was at present meant very little to the dark figure. He wasn't receiving the impression that the Dwarf cared very much about the height of respected hobbits or just how much others looked up to him. Whatever he was by hobbit standards did not apply to Dwarves.

"Tell me," The dark-haired Dwarf approached him, keeping his thick arms (to which Bilbo didn't like the look of) folded across his chest and thus, began to circle. This caused Bilbo to take a small, startled step back. He most certainly did not appreciate others looking him over as if he was a cow or a pig to take to market. "How is your experience in combat?"

Combat?! The poor hobbit nearly fell over. Surely he had misunderstood?

"I-I beg your pardon-" He began, raising a finger aloft to draw the Dwarf's attention.

"Sword or ax?" Thorin interrupted, still circling, and not paying the least bit of attention to Bilbo's shock or confusion. "Which is more suitable for your-" Here he paused behind Bilbo, who had to turn about in order to keep the Dwarf in sight. "Physique."

The poor hobbit had no idea how to counter such a question, and in a polite manner at that. So, quite out of desperation, he resorted to a small form of boasting. If only to level the playing field as far as capabilities went. He wasn't about to stand here in his entrance hall and be insulted without some form of polite and reasonable retaliation.

"Well, I do have some small skill at conkers," He offered, trying to sound as confident as he meant it to be. Then, he straightened himself up to his full height, tucked his fingers into the straps of his suspenders near his chest and looked the esteemed Dwarf in the eyes. "Though I fail to see why that is relevant to the situation at hand."

The dark dwarrow looked him up and down once more, then nodded slightly. "Thought as much." Then he turned his head to gaze over at the Dwarves behind and smirked. "He appears to be nothing more than a grocer."

Shame rose immediately to Bilbo's cheeks as the whole company, who were supposed to be his guests, erupted into howling laughter and chortles. Even Gandalf himself seemed to grin to some degree at the sharp jibe. He ducked his head as a harsh blush flooded his face and as such, he didn't notice until a few moments later that all the Dwarves had receded back towards the dinning room. He remained in the hallway for a moment in order to pull his rather slighted feelings together, taking small notice that Gandalf was standing beside him. The wizard was facing the poor hobbit from off to the left, leaning heavily upon an elbow that was propped up against one of the beams.

"My dear fellow," The Istari began, looking quite apologetic for the first time since his arrival. "I'm sure Thorin meant no harm-"

"Oh I'm sure he meant plenty." The hobbit snapped back, turning his sharp eyes to the wizard and feeling quite insulted. "I don't know why they are here Gandalf, but I take it it's not for the comforts of my hobbit-hole or my food. I want whatever business they're here for taken care of and then I want them gone. Then, I pray, that will be the end of it."

And with that, Bilbo turned on his heel and started down the hall to his study. Let the Dwarves have their fill of whatever was left of his food and drink. Let them talk and debate over whatever reason they had come. He had enough of Dwarves and he had enough of being insulted in return for his hospitality. He wasn't expecting company and he thought he had done a well enough job at accommodating the throng. And how do they repay him? Insults, throwing about his belongings, mud in his carpet, and pillaging every edible crumb in his entire home!

There was only so much a respectable hobbit could take. And poor Bilbo Baggins had more than reached his limit.

* * *

By the time he had sat down at the head of the table, the others had followed suit. Dori had even whipped up a bowl of nice, hot stew to settle his empty stomach and Dwalin had located him a reasonable size mug of ale. The rest of the table had been cleared of plates, forks, knives, and any remaining food (with the exception of his own and a few remaining mugs of ale his men were still partaking in), which now left it free to conduct the dark business that lay ahead. Several of the men had already whipped out their pipes, and by several he meant the three most diligent smokers in the company, Glóin, Bofur, and Nori, for the long discussion.

Everyone else had tucked into mindless chatter concerning everything from mining to toy-making to even a tale of two of Nori's concerning some recent thieving expeditions he had undertaken. Though Thorin was sure they could not have been too recent. Nori wasn't a Dwarf who revealed much about his work unless the tales he told were old enough that they were no longer any threat to him. Once he was finished with his meal, Thorin put down his spoon and pushed the bowl aside.

Taking that as a sign that business could finally begin, Balin, the oldest Dwarf among them, and by far the wisest, spoke up. "How fared the meeting in Ered Luin? They all came did they not?"

"Aye," He dipped his head in agreement. "All seven kingdoms brought envoys to discuss the matter."

Immediately he was met with a chorus of cheers, thumps of thick hands slapping the tabletop in excitement, and raised fists shaking in the air in mock victory. Thorin grimaced inwardly. The news he brought with him concerning the Dwarven kingdoms was not favorable in the least, as the others would soon learn. However, if anyone among the men could pick up his inward feelings the most, it was the first Dwarf who resided on his left, just sitting beside Gandalf, who sat on Thorin's immediate left.

"And what of the Dwarves of the Iron Hills?" Dwalin, the young brother of Balin, son of Fundin, and one of the most capable, loyal warriors he ever had the fortune to met, sounded. The Dwarf's posture was one of absolute confidence, yet relaxed enough to move at a moments notice. In the dim light of the few candles that sat upon the table, Thorin could see in Dwalin's brown eyes that he had already guessed the true answer to his question. Yet, all the same, he left it to Thorin to answer it for the sake of the rest of them. "Does Dain stand with us?"

He inhaled a sharp breath and closed his eyes for just a moment. It was news he wished he did not have to bring, because it meant what he had always feared. Too few of his own kin feared the wrath of the great worm and too few feared of losing what little they had gained. They only wished to preserve what little they had been able to save and not many were willing to leave behind their families, families who had already been cleaved in two, for the sake of treasure or a home that they now deemed as lost forever. In that, Thorin himself could find no shame in. He understood, though with heavy heart, why they had reached the conclusion that they had. However, it only made his quest that more difficult to achieve.

"He does not." Thorin announced solemnly, not quite able to look the men in the eyes.

All at once, a chorus of groans and voices of disappointment went up as each of the men voiced their displeasure over the news. They shook their heads and looked to one another as if hoping to find answers in each others eyes. Though, none ever came. It was a great failure on his part and now he was faced with leading twelve of the only loyal and courageous Dwarves that Middle-earth could provide for him. Only twelve who would stand with him in his decision to reclaim their homeland. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dwalin shut his eyes in both understanding and in disappointment. Of all the Dwarves present, it was he who has supported Thorin right from the very moment he considered the quest to Erebor. No doubts. No questions. Just loyalty. And he prayed to Mahal above that it was loyalty and unwavering faith to him that would not lead the Dwarf to his death.

"They say the quest is ours," Thorin continued, raising his head and forcing himself to met the eyes of the ones he would be leading. He would not give them such ill news and turn away the moment they were said. He needed them to understand that even though this was a great setback, it would not undo them. He needed to remain strong. For them. For he was all they had in this endeavor. He would not disappoint them. "And ours alone."

Again, more grumbling and murmuring came as the Company began to realize that they were on their own. No help would come from the rest of their kin. They were alone in this.

"Y-you're going on a quest?"

Thorin's eyes shifted to his left and found just behind Gandalf, at the top of the small steps to his kitchen, stood the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins. He was still dressed in his white button down shirt, brown breeches, and suspenders, but nonetheless seemed a bit more calm and a hit of curiosity gleamed in his eyes. It seemed to Thorin the little creature did posses some amount of interest in what he and his Company were undertaking. Though, that did not mean he was fond of sharing the information with a being who's ears resembled that of an Elf's.

However, Gandalf once again interfered before he could voice his opinion.

"Ah, Bilbo!" The wizard turned about on his tool and offered the little creature a genuine smile. "A little more light if you please?"

The hobbit made a noise of agreement, scurried down the steps, squeezed by Gandalf, and disappeared behind Thorin to retrieve another candle. As he was doing this, the Grey Pilgrim pulled something out from beneath his fraying robes and upon closer inspection, Thorin realized the object was a map. His interest peeked, he leaned in closer to examine the weather-worn piece of parchment.

"Beyond the vast expanses of Middle-earth," The wizard began, placing the map upon the table for those near enough to Thorin's end to see. The others at the far end stood up and leaned as close as they were able to get a peek of whatever lay upon the paper. "Lies a single peak in total solitary."

A moment later, the hobbit had returned beside Thorin carrying a lit candle. His eyes wandered over the map, drinking in the exquisite detail of Erebor herself.

"The Lonely Mountain." He drawled, letting the name upon the map flow heavily from his tongue.

Judging by the way the little creature pondered over the map and how the second name of the mountain came from his lips with uncertainty and slight confusion, Thorin deemed that Mr. Baggins had never heard of his home before. Or, if he had, was not exactly sure of the history or weight behind it. This caused his already small view of the hobbit to become even smaller. If the blasted creature didn't understand the importance of the mountain herself, how could he possibly be of any use?

"Aye!" Came Glóin from the down the line on the right. The intricate, red-bearded Dwarf sat just between Nori and Balin and had put away his pipe in order to speak. "My brother has read the signs and they say it. Is. _Time._"

Just as Glóin had begun to speak, Dori, one of the older Dwarves though he fell into the more "softer" of their kind who valued good wine and fine clothing, rolled his eyes in exasperation at Glóin's melodramatics and turned his attention to his youngest brother to whisper something in his ear. That something was probably along the lines of dissuading the youngster from believing anything the Dwarf said. Nori however, just gave his elder brother a withering look that the eldest clearly missed, shook his head, and went back to his pipe. Thorin sincerely hope the three brothers wouldn't disagree the whole way. The last thing he needed was to break up trifle sibling quarrels whilst trying to keep the rest of them alive.

Óin, who had been the one to interpret the portents in the first place, picked up where his younger brother had left off. "Ravens have been spotted flying back to the mountain, as it was foretold years past. 'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the rein of the beast, shall end.'"

Thorin also took note that his nephews, Fíli and Kíli, were hanging upon the elder's every word. Their eyes alight with eagerness and excitement. He inwardly shook his head, perhaps taking them upon this quest was not well advised. Dis was correct in saying the boys were not yet ready for such an undertaking. Yet, he believe both of them were capable of handling themselves appropriately. After all, Thorin himself had trained the boys in both combat and in the ways of royalty. Fíli and Kíli each possessed a great deal of honor, respect for others, and an sensational knack for curiosity. They never abused their position as princes, though in truth, there was no way for them to. They were born into exile and Thorin had not told them of their heritage until they were old enough to fully understand the circumstances surrounding it.

They had no power and they had no entitlements. In order for them to succeed in life, they had to learn to work for it. Thorin had seen to that, teaching them the value of hard work and the satisfaction of earning something you worked diligently for. Now, years later, the brothers were exceptionable. They possessed many skills, both in combat and in diplomacy. Though, Fíli was more inclined to rationalize things through more so than Kíli, but the younger one was learning and followed the example of his older brother fairly well. They were inseparable after all.

Thorin smiled to himself, a rare thing indeed but at the thought of seeing how much the brothers had grown from little dwarflings to the Dwarves they were now, he allowed it for a small moment. They were every bit the sons he never had, yet they were sons to him all the same. Dis didn't seem to mind and that was enough for him. Having his sister's approval meant a great deal to him as well, though he wouldn't let others know it. She could be a hard woman to please at times, but that was only because she wanted the best for her sons. She loved them all: Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin himself. Losing her husband, their middle brother Frerin, their father, Thrain, and their grandfather, had taken its toll on her emotionally. Thus, she kept the boys on a tight rein for the better part of their early years until he volunteered to take up the role as father and help with their raising. It was a decision he never regretted. Not once.

All of a sudden he was drawn out of his reverie when a series of shouts and blatant insults began to be passed about. Cursing himself for being so drawn into his inner thoughts and letting them run away with him, Thorin immediately jumped to his feet and loudly commanded order. Immediately the room was silenced and several of the younger Dwarves, his nephews included, shrank back in their seats with wide eyes. Even a few of the older ones, such as Nori and Bifur looked abet shaken. He shook his head at the group and narrowed his eyes in anger, partly at himself and partly because of the horrid behavior the Company was expressing.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others would have read them too?" He asked harshly, silently sending a prayer to Mahal that he was able to hear the majority of the conversation while also diving into the inner recesses of his mind. "Smaug as not been seen for nay sixty years and if that is so, than all eyes look east to our home, accessing, wondering, and weighing the risk."

The expressions of those seated around the table began to change from a mixture of fear and alarm to awe and admiration. The key to any mission was a good moral boost and sound reasoning.

"Perhaps now the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected." Thorin continued ominously, weighting each and every word that he spoke with great care yet, with a dark heaviness. He allowed his gaze to wander again, finding the eyes of each Dwarf, willing them to understand the importance of this quest. "Do we sit back, while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?!"

At once a resounding cry went up from Dwalin, who jumped to his feet causing his stool to slide back and make contact with the wall behind him, and threw up a fist in roaring agreement. His shout spurred on the rest of the Company, some of who also jumped to their feet, while others remained seated but thumped their thick hands upon the table's surface. Still other pumped their fists in the air and some of the younger Dwarves cried out in wild excitement while also looking just a tad bit wary of what was soon to come. Though, the wariness mostly came from the third youngest, Ori.

"Du-Bekar!" Thorin took up one of their ancient battle cries and gave the table in front of him a good smack. "Du-Bekar!"

After a few small seconds of reveling in the height of the moment, the Company began to settle, with the help of Balin who had helpfully pointed out that the front gate to the mountain had been sealed by the dreaded worm and now there was no way available to enter Erebor. Thorin cursed himself for forgetting such a key factor. Unless they could find a way into the Lonely Mountain, there was no hope for reclaiming their homeland. Just as Gandalf opened his mouth in order to counter such a statement, Thorin only knew this because that was all the Wizard had been doing as of late, when a sudden strange, blue light appeared upon the ceiling above their heads.

Now, he had never especially paid much attention to one's ceiling before but he was fairly certain that they were not supposed to emit this sort of thing. The blue light was not very large, just roughly the size of a dinner plate. But after a moment or two of just watching it, it began to grow. And grow. And grow. Until it's circumference was about the size of a rather large circular table.

Immediately, he pulled back the folds of his fur cloak and withdrew a rather long knife. He did not know what the light entailed but if his life had taught him anything it was to never let down one's guard. For all he knew, it was a threat. At seeing their leader, and relation as most of them were related by blood in one way or another, take up arms, the rest of the Company drew out daggers and knives from the confines of their clothing, vambraces, and boots. Some, such as Glóin, went so far as to draw a throwing ax that was hidden underneath his rather long and intricate beard.

Fixing his eyes upon the light, Thorin tensed himself for battle. He did not like the look of the strange light and for all he knew, it could be something of Elvish quality. The others too tensed in preparation for whatever was to come. Dwalin had even gone so far as to locate his two axes, Ukhlat and Umraz, just in case things got too out of hand. A moment passed. Then another. Finally, it seemed that nothing was happening. Just that a rather large light now seemed to be swirling about on the ceiling.

"What in Mahal's good name is th-" But whoever had spoken never got the chance to finish the exclamation.

For in that moment the light grew ever brighter and then there was a great flash of white light. Thorin had no choice but to close his eyes and raise a hand in front of his face in order to shield himself from it. Then, as quickly as it had come it was gone. The white flash. The blue light. Gone in the blink of an eye. He blinked his eyes rapidly in order to return his vision to normal and when he had recovered, he found that something had indeed transpired.

For there, lying across the table's surface, was a figure. A rather short statured one at that, probably no bigger than himself. His shoulders were broad, but not as broad as any of that of the Company. He had a short mop of curly, red hair, though it was not that ridiculous bright hue that he found a great deal of Men possessed. The figure's legs were proportionate to the rest of it's body, yet was slightly shorter than it's torso, which in a small way, was in the manner of how Dwarves were built. The figure's skin, or what skin was available to see, mostly it's arms and face, was pale and dotted with dark brown, speckles. But it was the figure's clothing that puzzled Thorin the most.

"What in Arda is that?" Someone asked.

The figure (who was sprawled across the tabletop on it's back, still had yet to move) wore long, black trousers made of some kind of material he had never seen before. It clung to the figures hips and legs just enough to show off their shape, but not so much that it displayed all that there was to see. It's tunic, whose sleeves only came down to it's elbows and was a rather deep, forest green in color, fitted more in line with it's shape rather than just loosely hanging from it's frame. Upon it's feet were shoes, but they were made of something that he could not place nor recognized. They fitted over the person's feet fully, yet stopped at the ankle and went no further. All in all, the figure was the strangest being he had ever seen. And he did not like strange, nor did he not like being able to place what race it was.

"I don' know wha' it is, but I don' like the look of it."

It was clearly not an Elf. It was too short and judging by it's rather short hair (a concept he still could not fathom, he knew of no one besides hobbit males who did not possess long hair), it's ears were not pointed. However, this brought him little comfort. It was also clearly not a hobbit, for it resembled nothing of Baggins and it was most certainly not a Dwarf. Though it's form and height and build was similar to one of his race, it possessed no beard or stubble of any sort. That only left the race of Men as an option, for the figure most certainly had more in common with that race than any of the others.

Before he had the chance to take command of the situation, the figure moved. It let out a low groan and tentatively raised a hand to it's head, which must have hit the table rather hard. It rolled itself over to left it's side, which consequently was in Thorin's direction. It opened it eyes, which he found to be a light sort of sky blue and stared at him through half opened lids.

"W-what the-?"

The moment it began to speak, Thorin reacted instantly. He reached out at an alarming speed and pinned the figure to the table by it's right shoulder. Lifting the hand which still held the knife, he pressed it against the skin of stranger's neck. The figure sputtered sporadicly and tried in vain to free itself from his grasp, wrapping one of it's rather tiny, but thick hands around the wrist that held the blade. Thorin did not relieve his hold upon the figure, if anything he increased the pressure on it's shoulder, insuring that it could not struggle, and pressed the blade more firmly against it's column.

"Who," He growled deeply, low in the back of his throat. "Are. You?"

**Well now, that's one way to meet the Dwarves. In my opinion, this is far more realistic than anything else I have read before. Because, in all honesty, would Thorin or any of the others really just open their arms to you and say "Greetings! Welcome to Middle-earth! Please, join us on our quest to reclaim our homeland from a fire-breathing dragon!"**

**Ah no. Sorry, but no. Dwarves in general, do not trust others outside their own race. Look at Gandalf people! Thorin doesn't even fully trust HIM! Let alone Bilbo! And speaking of our dear hobbit, I like the reasoning I created behind why Thorin doesn't like him. Bilbo has pointed ears! Thus, in Thorin's opinion, he is a sort of Elfish-creature and therefore has some physical resemblance to the race he despises the most. Bilbo is a constant reminder of the betrayal the Elves dealt him and his people long ago. That and the fact Bilbo doesn't look like much as far as physical prowess.**

**Anyway, so . . . how was it? Good? Bad? Please leave me a review in the box below! PLEASE?!**

**Oh P.S.: Cate will not be changing into any race or any sort. The way Thorin just described her is actually how she truly is built. Her physical appearance is based off my own actually.**


	6. Fight or Flight?

**Hello again! I wish to apologize for the shorter chapter this time around, but I'm still trying to finish this other story. However, my mind keeps coming back to Cate and The Hobbit group. Such is my life. I really need to work on the other story, but Cate and her own tale keeps interrupting. So, hopefully this will settle my Hobbit muse so I can go back and put my focus back on the other story. I apologize again for the short chapter, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. **

**Cate finally meets the Dwarves!**

**Chapter Six  
**

**Fight or Flight?  
**

Whatever it was she landed on, it was hard. Quite hard indeed. Everything, or it felt like everything, was in some sort of pain or another. At first she lay completely still, not sure whether or not she had broken anything in the fall and was not about to make any sudden movements until she was certain she had not. After a moment or two of just focusing on controlling her breathing, and trying not to cry out in the process, Cate carefully tried to wiggle her toes. Success! They moved with ease, though abet stiffly, but there was no pain in the movement. Next, her fingers. Another success. At the very least, her toes and fingers were all in one piece. The rest of her? Well that, on the other hand, was debatable.

For starters, the back of her head felt as if it had been cloven in two. It smarted something awful! Cate was sure there now was a nice size knot in the exact spot which collided with whatever hard surface she landed upon. On top of that, her entire back was so sore it ached to move. Her shoulders too had taken a rather hard hit and giving them the slightest shrug sent a shards of pain down her arms and up her neck. She nearly cried out at the movement and had to grit her teeth tightly against the pain in order to retain it. In fact, she clenched her teeth so hard, she felt as if they would crack and shatter under the sheer force. She was most definably sore, that at least was certain.

She had not yet opened her eyes, more concerned with the amount of pain her body was in rather than her surroundings. Tentatively though, she raised a hand to the back of her head to check the damage. Her fingers slid through her relatively short curls with ease, gently pressing here and there to check for bumps, bruises, and any lacerations that she may encounter. It wasn't until she reached the very back of her skull that she found it. A nice, egg sized lump. The moment her cautious fingers touched it, a flare of needlelike pain erupted from the injury. This in turn caused a low moan of agony to escape her. Oh, Lord above it hurt!

She forced herself to roll over, anything to relieve the pressure from her aching head. Still clutching at her injured skull, Cate carefully, though somewhat unwillingly, opened both eyes; just enough for her to make out were she was. She was only able to open them halfway, as though they were under the effects of a heavy sleep. However, in reality, it was more in line with exhaustion. Her vision at first was blurry, only able to make out basic shapes and colors. Then she blinked a few times in order to clear it and the shapes and colors solidified into recognition. What just so happened to be in her direct line of sight however, was not at all what she expected.

It was a man.

The first thing she noticed about the stranger, was his hair. It's length was the longest she had ever seen in person on a male, for it fell just a few inches past his shoulders, and it possessed a slight wave about it. The locks themselves were black as midnight though, hidden away from immediate sight, there were scattered strands of silver which glinted in the faint light. Two simple, basic braids fell across his shoulders, one on each side of his head and both were bound by an single intricate, silver clasp. Dark hair dusted the length of his jawline, chin, and upper lip, which, in a strange way, framed his face in quite a nice, handsome way. Her attention then drifted to the stranger's next prominent feature.

His eyes.

Never before had she seen such dark, blue eyes in a person. They reminded her of stormy seas and the color of her navy blue polo's. They appeared fathomless and a small part of her feared just what lay on the other side of those dark, blue orbs. A smothering rage seemed to simmer just below their surface. An anger and fierceness so torrent and breaching that it felt like waves crashing against cliff-sides in retaliation. A sea which refused to be mastered by anyone or anything. These were the eyes of someone who yielded to no one but himself. A person who both assertive and strong-willed. This person knew who and what he was. No doubts. No questions. Suddenly, Cate felt quite small from underneath the vast weight that lay behind those eyes.

Perhaps, it was this fear she felt from being under this stranger's gaze that caused her to find her voice. "W-what t-the-"

She never had the chance to finish. The stranger moved at lightening speed and suddenly there was a rather long knife pressed against her throat. Cate panicked. She had never been on the other side of a knife before and she immediately did not like it. She thrashed against him, clawing at the hand that held the blade, trying in vain to push the appendage and weapon away from her skin. In response to her struggles, the stranger reached out with a rather large hand and slammed her already injured right shoulder into what felt like the wooden surface of a floor. Pain flared from the sore joint and Cate couldn't help but release a small cry in reaction to the brute force.

"Who. Are. You?" The stranger, who's face was now mere inches from her own, demanded harshly, his deep baritone rumbling with barely controlled anger.

She couldn't answer. She could only stare up into the stranger's rage filled face, a look of pure fear had to be draped across her own face, and remain silent. She was too frightened, no too _terrified_ to respond. The stranger's eyes were alight with such a raging, burning anger that it made her shrink back as far as she could, which wasn't much considering she was being pressed against the floor, and his lips had curled up into a fierce snarl. He looked as if he meant to kill her! _KILL!_

Cate's eyes dilated. Instinct took over. Fight, or flight? Her mind wondered briefly, but it only took a second for her body to reach a conclusion. Flight! GET AWAY! GET AWAY! _**GET AWAY!**_ She kicked out with her feet as hard as she could, catching her captor hard in the chest with her left. He struggled to keep his hold upon her shoulder but Cate was no longer in any state of mind to be reasoned with. Her life was being threatened! She had to get away! Her basic animal instinct was now in control and it was telling her to _FLEE!_ She latched her small, but sturdy hands around the stranger's wrist that still held the knife and clawed at it in desperation, digging her barely existent nails as deep into his skin as possible.

He grunted and struggled above her, but she took no notice. She kicked out again and this time, caught the dark-haired stranger in the face. She felt his nose give under the pressure from the sheer force she had kicked him with and a sickening _crack!_ filled the air around her. Out of the corner of her eye, Cate saw the knife slip from his hand as he reached up to clutch his now broken nose. The pressure upon her shoulder was gone. She was free! Cate took the opportunity and bolted, or tried to at least. She scampered backwards across the wooden surface, unable to realize that she was not on a floor of any sort, but on a table. To which, she discovered too late. As she scuttled backwards as fast as her body was able, her hand met open air and she slipped off the table and spilled onto the floor in a tangled heap of her own limbs.

She struggled, trying to free herself from her own body. Her mind repeating over and over and over to get away. She had to get away. Danger. Danger! Not safe! She wasn't safe! She heard shouting and arguing above her, but that only added more fuel for her panic. There were MORE of them?! Finally, she freed herself and scrambled to her feet, backing away from the table and now taking in the ten to fifteen figures who were now standing before her. The one who had held the knife to her throat was bent over in obvious pain, though his deep blue eyes still remained fixed on her. Cate saw his mouth move but no words followed. More panic began to flood her and raw adrenaline hit her so suddenly she didn't have a chance to fully understand what was happening.

Suddenly, one of the men, they were clearly _all_ men, moved towards her, a small dagger in his hand. Raw fear hit her like a battering ram. Her heart pounded so hard inside her chest she briefly wondered if it was burst. Cate did the only thing she felt she could.

She ran.

* * *

By Mahal's beard it hurt!

Clutching a hand to his bleeding face, Thorin knew instantly his assailant had broken his nose. He bent over, trying to reclaim his bearings while also keeping the being in his line of sight. Dwalin had come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder to see the damage but he roughly shrugged the Dwarf off. He did not need his help. Thorin watched as the figure scrambled away from him, not aware that he was on top of a table and by the time he figured it out, it was too late. The figure fell to the floor right in the middle of the dinning room entrance-way, in a tangle of it's own limbs. Bofur, who had been sitting at Thorin's immediate right, jumped to his feet and went to help the creature but Thorin threw out a hand, which by now was covered in blood, to stop the Dwarf.

"You have no idea what he's capable of," He growled thickly, still trying to stem the bleeding with his remaining hand. "Keep your distance or risk losing something you value."

The former miner flitted his eyes to the struggling figure, then back to Thorin, clearly torn between wanting to help and his allegiance towards his leader. Bofur lifted a fingerless, knitted-gloved hand and gestured instantly at the poor thing. "But, Thorin-"

In that moment, the poor creature had managed to untangle itself and stumbled to its feet. His deep, green tunic was now in severe disarray and it's ridiculously short curls were sticking up in all the wrong ways. His eyes were wide with fright and at once, Thorin understood the look in those pale, blue orbs. He was working himself into a right, full on panic. Before Thorin could find a way to calm the person down, his gaze flitted around the room, taking in each and every person in it. If it was possible, the figure's eyes widened more in growing horror and slowly began backing out of the room.

Thorin cursed mentally. Any sudden movement by himself, any of his men, Gandalf, or even the hobbit would set the creature off and then they would really have a problem on their hands. It was like dealing with a wild animal. A deer, that was what he was acting like. A frightened, panicked deer. They had to approach this with caution or else someone was going to get hurt. Thorin grimaced. The creature had quite a kick, he'd give him that much.

Unfortunately, not everyone understood how best to approach the situation. Nori decided it was a fine idea to approach the clearly panicked figure, a glint of Dwarvish iron in his hands.

"Nori! NO!" But Thorin's warning came too late.

The terrified figure caught sight of the approaching Dwarf, and the knife clutched within his hand, and bolted down the hall to the left. A path that would only lead the panicked creature deeper into the hobbit's hole.

**Soooo? How'd I do? Not you're average meeting I know, but I think this works fairly well. It's much more realistic than all the other OC/Dwarves encounters. At least, in my opinion. I mean, it's how I would react if someone put a knife to my throat. Plus, Thorin now realizes that he's going to have to approach this far more tactfully if he wants her to calm down. Foolish Nori, getting a bit head of himself there.**

**No worries though. Cate will calm down. Eventually. After possibly having a mental breakdown.**

**By the way, Cate's actions are not stupid or anything like that. Irrational, yes but this is based off a something that every single one of us possesses. When we are threatened, our instincts kick in and gives us a choice. Fight or Flight? It's our most basic and fundamental survival tactic. People who have been in life threatening situations often experience the sheer panic and confusion that Cate is experiencing at this moment. And to tell you the truth, I've personally been there. It's not a good feeling and you don't really have any control over your actions. You act purely on the desire to LIVE. You do everything and anything to get out or to run or to fight back.**

**This is why people have been known to survive long falls or lift cars partly off the ground or jump through glass doors. Partly it's adrenaline which floods your system and makes you strong enough to do the impossible, such as get of of Thorin's grasp.**

**A lot of writers who don't know Tolkien's work well enough, don't understand that Dwarves are the strongest beings in Middle-earth. Period. Even someone like Ori is more physically stronger than a Man or an Elf. Dwarves are built for endurance and strength. That is why the seven Dwarf Lords never gave into the power of their Rings, because they were physically (and mentally) strong enough to resist it. However, it did make them more greedy for gold and silver, but that's about it.**

**Cate shouldn't have been able, on her own, to escape from Thorin because he is physically stronger than her. Not just because he is male, but because of his race. This proves that when threatened or under enough stress, one's body and mind goes into this Flight or Fight stage and then they can get out of it whatever situation threatens them. Sometimes. It doesn't always grantee survival, but it's our bodies natural defense mechanism.**

**I hope this explanation will sort out any questions any of you may have had or were wondering. Thank you oh so much for reading and please leave me a review in the box below. **


	7. Hide-and-Go-Seek

**Welcome back! Much longer this time around I'm pleased to say. Now we're getting to know more of the Dwarves this time around. I hope I'll be able to establish each of them properly in their own way. Because of the fact not many of them are that explored (even in the movie) I hope to capture each of them and establish their own personalities. So far the ones I feel I can do most well at this point is Gandalf and Bilbo. Thorin is becoming easier but is still a right challenge.**

**Hopefully, as this story progresses, I'll have each Dwarf fleshed out in a descent way and a personality that is all their own. With that in mind, please read on. **

**Chapter Seven**

**Hide-and-Go-Seek  
**

"A fine mess of things you've made Thorin Oakenshield." Gandalf stated curtly, stowing away his pipe in the folds of his robes and straightening himself. "Nicely done indeed, I'm sure the poor thing is running himself into hysterics now."

Thorin shot the wizard a withering look, but he couldn't quite manage it while still clutching his bloody nose with one hand. Dori suddenly appeared beside him and silently offered the dark-haired Dwarf a spare handkerchief. Thorin accepted the offering with a curt nod and pressed the soft, white material against his broken nose. He knew Óin was going to have to reset it in order for it to heal properly and it may as well be sooner rather than later. He didn't want to end up with a crooked nose.

"I did not see you make any effort to engage it." The Dwarf shot back thickly, not at all pleased with just how much damage the being had been able to inflict on him.

A broken nose! The last time he recalled he had his nose broken was when he was just a lad and had lost his temper with his younger brother. They had quite a row and it ended up in a nasty fistfight, resulting in a broken nose on Thorin's part and a rather nasty black eye on Frerin's. In the end, he couldn't remember what the argument was about, but Thorin had the feeling it may have been over weapons. In any case, it took a very young Dis, their mother, and their father to wrestle the two of them apart. Then they were both sent to Óin, who reset Thorin's damaged nose and and applied his special ointment to Frerin's eye. This was followed with several lectures on the appropriate behavior of Dwarven princes and how if any of them were caught trying to kill the other again, they were going to receive a far worse punishment than sharpening all the swords and axes in the armory.

It had been a rather very long day.

"Perhaps if you had not acted so rashly," Gandalf started up again, rising to his feet and giving the Dwarf a withering look of his own. "We would not have to calm a rather frightened and clearly panicked being. There are other ways to deal with an intruder than to hold them to a table and threaten them with a knife."

Here the wizard paused and sent Nori, who's current expression was not in the least bit guilty, an admonishing look. However, the moment the Dwarf thief caught sight of the wizard's steely gaze, he paled slightly and turned round to engage his older brother in conversation.

"I suggest," The wizard continued, looking about at the Dwarves and giving them each stern looks. "That we ensure that he does not leave Bag-end until we can understand who he is and what he is doing here. But first, we must find and calm him down. Otherwise he will end up hurting either himself or one of you."

Gandalf's gaze flitted to Thorin just for an instant before turning back to the others.

"And how are we to do that?" Dori pipped up, his voice cracking slightly as he was near hysterics himself. Everyone turned to face the graying Dwarf, who looked about at his fellows with a small amount of unease before continuing. "Calm it I mean. What if it tries to attack us again?"

"Yes, what then?" Questioned Gloin, turning to Gandalf and looking rather expectant. His thick beard hid most of his lower facial features, making his expression rather hard to decipher. The massive facial decor gave him the appearance of being far more intimidating and hard than he actually was. When you got to know the Dwarf at least.

The wizard, who most certainly did not like things demanded of him, closed his eyes in exasperation and thumped the butt of his staff against the floor before fixing his sharp eyes on the paranoid Dwarf. "Master Dori, would you kindly refrain from referring to the poor creature as an 'it'? He clearly is not. As for if he retaliates again, need I remind you that he did not attack Thorin until _after_ he had pressed a knife to his throat?"

Then he turned to the red-bearded Dwarf and offered him small scowl of annoyance. "As for you Master Gloin, do not demand answers of me of which I have no reason to give."

Thoroughly scolded, the two Dwarves remained silent for a moment then resumed voicing their doubts and displeasure only this time, hiding it through mumbling and incoherent chatter. Thorin in the meantime, who decided it wasn't worth the trouble to rebuke the wizard's comment, finally stopped the bleeding and trudged over towards Óin to ask for assistance in putting his nose back in order. The elder gave a small nod of agreement and put away his ear trumpet so as to help his king. Taking hold of Thorin's nose, Óin voiced a small warning, then jerked the appendage to the right. There was a small popping sound, which was loud enough for all the other Dwarves to hear, and thus, they immediately quit speaking so as it learn whether their leader's nose was properly squared away.

"There you are lad," The gray-haired nodded in satisfaction, crossing his arms over his barrel chest and looking slightly pleased with his handiwork. "That should put it right."

Thorin gave a small wince, then reached up and prodded his nose for further inspection. It no longer pained him, though there was a slight, dull tingling to it. Nonetheless, he was satisfied that it was no longer broken.

"Thank you Óin." He said tightly, not wanting to draw anymore attention to it.

He had enough self-humiliation for one night and he most certainly was not going to tolerate anymore. He had been overtaken by someone who's physical build was a great deal (though not too much of a great deal) smaller than his own, all at the expense of his nose. The creature was going to pay dearly for this, he swore it. Whatever it was trying to do, whatever it's reasons for dropping in (quite literally) he was going to make sure it never tried anything like that again. Still fuming, Thorin spun on his heel and returned to the front of the room were he could see everyone clearly.

"Find the intruder." He ordered, his deep, resounding baritone cut through the air like a blade. "The sooner we sort out this mess, the better. I want to know who he is and what his purpose is for coming here. And also," Here he said this more to himself than anyone else. "If he heard anything regarding the Quest."

Without further delay, the Company stood as one and divided into small groups in order to cut off any escape routes the stranger may use in order to leave. He wasn't going anywhere until he answered a few questions. That is, if he didn't try to break the rest of their noses first.

* * *

She didn't know which way to go.

Everywhere she turned there seemed to be another room or closet of some sort, but never a door that lead to the outside. It was like being in an endless tunnel. In fact, now that she stopped to think about it (she paused just for a moment before resuming her search for a way out) the halls and rooms _were_ like a tunnel. Everything was _round_. Panic and fear was coming in waves, crashing against the rocks and cliffs of her sanity and consciousness. One minute it would clear and she was able to make some sort of sense of her surroundings, and the next she would hear a noise of some sort and so the panic returned. It was an endless cycle repeating itself every few seconds, causing her blood to quicken and slow in sudden bursts. If this kept up, she was going to have a heart attack!

Finally, in her haste to escape, Cate stumbled across a room that was more or less currently being used for storage. Though it was not as big as a few of the other rooms she had briefly glimpsed, it was however filled with old furniture, crates of odds and ends, and most importantly, plenty of places to hide. The only downfall of the room was that it wasn't very far (and by far at the most fifteen feet) from the dinning room in which all the strange men were congregated in. She quickly shot a fearful look over her shoulder for any sign of someone lurking about in the hall and, finding no one about as of yet, dove straight inside without the least bit of hesitancy. It was a good thing indeed she was so small, not to mention being fairly gifted in hide-and-go-seek.

As Cate settled herself down in a half-empty barrel, she found, to her misfortune, it was filled with rather old hats and a few pairs of discarded knitted mittens (they smelled horribly of mothballs). Grimacing at the prospect of sharing a hiding place with articles that hadn't seen the light of day for roughly fifty years, she gritted her teeth and clamored inside. Once she was snug, or as snug as anyone could be in such a place, Cate stood up and struggled to lift a nearby crate up onto the lip of her barrel. However, the wooden box was far heavier than she first thought and nearly lost her grip on it's bottom. Groaning in strained effort, she reached deep inside her for buried strength and was finally able to set the crate halfway over the lip of her hiding space. On the bright side, this allowed plenty of air to get in so she wouldn't be stifled by the rotting remains of yarn and felt.

Immediately, Cate settled herself down as far into the barrel as she could and curled herself into a position not unlike that of a sleeping cat. She buried her head in her knees and inhaled the scent of home. It was, by far, the most familiar thing she had at this point. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, or as slowly as she could manage at this point, trying to make the sound of her breathing as indistinguishable as possible. For all her excellent hiding place would do for her, it wouldn't make her sound proof. She prayed that her precautions would be enough even though she knew, in the end, sooner or later, they would find her. Cate just hoped it would be later rather than sooner.

* * *

"Well done little brother," Dori grumbled irritably as he placed a rough hand upon his younger brother's shoulder and preceded to drag the most notorious of Dwarf-thieves out of the dinning hall. "Well done indeed, now you've done it. Gone and gotten us all in a right heap of trouble. Couldn't just sit and bide your time could you? Nooo, you had to jump right in, feet first."

"I don't need yer lectures." Nori shot back, cutting off his brother before the elder had the time to go any further. He threw off Dori's arm with a sharp cuff of his own hand and sent his brother a glare that was far too dark for the elder's taste. "Yer not mother or father so don't pretend to be. Tha' may work on Ori, bu' no' me. I 'came of age twenty years ago, Dori. Leave me be."

He didn't need his brother scolding him like a Dwarfling barely of out of his child-braids. He had earned his majority plaits years ago and much more than that. His level of success was far different than that of Dori's, who prided himself in fine clothes and proper behavior. Nori, on the other hand, found that his own talents lay at the opposite end of the spectrum. He was not in the slightest what anyone wanted, least of all his older brother. So, the Dwarf-thief had given up long ago on pleasing him. Or anyone else for that matter.

The only person who seemed to have any level of acceptance for who he was, was the youngest of the 'Ri brothers. Ori. His younger brother often enjoyed hearing all about the contracts and missions Nori had taken up over the past fifteen years. On the subject of Ori, Nori thought of him as more or less the combination of the two oldest brothers. He was polite and well-mannered, yet he possessed some small interest in mischief. The reasonable, well-managed kind anyway. He never got involved in the extreme schemes that Fili and Kili often did, but Ori had been known to find fun in some of the simplest things. Which is why he gravitated towards tomes and sketching. Before long, Ori had outclassed both older brothers in reading and writing. At that point, Nori realized that Ori would never be a smith or a thief or warrior. No, Ori was destined for the much more refined role of scholar.

He had a brilliant imagination, his brother.

The two younger brothers both accepted each other for who and what they were, no qualms about it. Ori came to terms that Nori was more suited for the delicate art of the shadows and Nori understood that Ori's place was among knowledge and art. While at first he scoffed that his baby brother liked reading and writing more than weapons or adventure, Ori soon showed him the wonders of what tomes could give others. In the quiet of the evenings back at home, when Nori would sit by the fire and listen to the tales of those long passed that brought were to light by Ori's hypnotic voice. It was when he listened to his brother read the letters upon the pages of some old tome he didn't know, did he truly understand what Ori was capable of. He could weave tales of adventure, honor, and battle and Nori would be there, fighting along side his ancestors.

Ever since, Nori supported his younger brother in becoming the wise scholar he aimed to be. With, or without, Dori's approval or support. And with these thoughts in mind, the middle of the 'Ri brothers turned his head sharply and marched off in the direction of what he thought was the parlor. He didn't need the elder's approval or consent on how to live his life, he did however, value the input of the younger.

* * *

How he ended up partnered with Dwalin he'd never understand. It wasn't that he didn't like the Dwarf it was just, well, rather uncomfortable you might say. Bofur and the second son of Fundin himself, were at two completely different ends of the spectrum. While Dwalin was a lord's son and a well-master warrior, Bofur himself was just a simple miner who dabbled in the art of toy-making. Though, he was not as talented as his cousin Bifur, who was quite renowned back at home in the Blue Mountains. He rather spend his time by the great fireplace in his brother's tavern telling stories of far away places and tales of romance and fantasy. No, the strange-hatted Dwarf was more inclined to telling jokes and stories and trying to improve his toy-making skills by the teachings of his cousin rather than following the warrior's path.

Which is why he felt quite ill at ease with the tall Dwarf, though, he hid it remarkable well. Also, his previous antics with the hobbit concerning Smaug's physical description didn't do much to improve anyone's opinion of him. Beside him, Dwalin kept shooting him disapproving looks out of the corner of his eye. Bofur hadn't meant anything by it, he was just trying to lighten the dark mood that had settled upon the Company. He never could stand ill feelings. He was just lucky Thorin did not take notice of his behavior. Now that he thought about it, the Dwarf prince had seemed deep in his own thinking at the time. He had been staring deep into his mug of ale while the rest of them were questioning Gandalf about the number of dragons he had slain and debating on whether or not the hobbit was able to handle the harsh reality of the wilderness.

Granted, Mr. Baggins didn't seem like much, but Bofur knew better than to base anything on appearances alone.

"Ya gonna just stare at the floor all day?" Dwalin demanded coarsely, startling Bofur out of his thoughts and causing his hat to nearly fall from his braided head. "Or ya gonna help with the search?"

"Eh?" In his haste to straighten his hat, the dwarrow nearly whopped himself in the eye. However, he quickly recovered and smoothed himself over out of nervousness. "Ah, yes. 'Course lad, lead the way."

Dwalin rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly at Bofur's lack of observance. Grumbling something unintelligible under his breath, the Dwarven warrior made a sharp right and headed down the hall in the direction in which the stranger disappeared. The miner quickly followed after, matching the warriors steps stride for stride as they wandered the hall. He made a note to himself that allowing his mind to wander while a task lay before him was not a wise idea. Especially not when his partner was one who was so easily annoyed. Perhaps it had something to do with the Dwarf's affiliation with Thorin. The both of them were quite similar, in both personality and skill level. Though, he found their personalities to be the biggest similarity.

"Which way, you suppose?" Bofur asked, looking first to the left then the right and taking in several different rooms within their section of the hobbit-hole. Then, more to himself, he added. "Wonder were the little guy went off to?"

"He's 'round here somewhere." Came Dwalin's blunt reply, yet he too looked puzzled. Nonetheless, the warrior placed a hand on one of the knives at his belt as a precaution. "Take the two on the right, I've got the left."

Bofur nodded in agreement, "Right ya are."

The two Dwarves shared a nod and darted off into their respected rooms. Dwalin taking what looked to be a bedroom of some sort, while Bofur ventured down the hall a little ways before entering what appeared to be a storage room. As he stepped inside and took a good look round, he heaved a small sigh of exasperation and overwhelming defeat. The room's sole purpose did indeed seem to be that for storage. It was filled with chairs, tables, crates of all sizes, and many barrels. If there was anyplace in the house to hide, this would be it he was sure.

"Well now," He began, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as his gazed flitted over the contents of the room. "Clever indeed, this intruder."

**Well, so we got to see some or Dori, Nori, Ori, Dwalin (a hint anyway) and Bofur. So, as far as personality and mannerisms, how did I do? feedback on them would be most appreciated. At this point I'm trying to ease all of you into the story and giving some of this characters some depth as we get into the tale. Next chapter more will happen, I promise. Right now, I'm just taking some baby steps. In truth, I rather NOT rush into the story without establishing the set first. I hope you all don't mind, but please keep your patience. Things will get off the ground.  
**

**I just rather take my time so I can do the story right. Please, review and let me know how you liked the characters. Feedback is a rather grand thing you know.**


	8. Nowhere to run, Nowhere to Hide

**To my readers who have just now started this story, welcome. To my more veteran readers, welcome back! Yes, i know I took that from Professor Dumbledore, but I love the way he phrases everything! So, we have an rather interesting encounter with . . . WOOP! Nearly gave it away! Short A/N this time folks because I frankly have nothing important to say. ONWARD! **

**Chapter Eight**

**Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide**

She stiffened, her body seizing up so tightly one would have thought her bones would shatter from the strain. There, came the distinct, rhythmic pattern of heavy footsteps approaching. Cate held her breath in anticipation, raw fear gnawing at her stomach. But, as soon as they had appeared, they continued on passed the room and disappeared down the hall. She remained stalk still for a moment, unsure if it was truly safe. Then after another second or so, breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe. That was until she caught the sound of a second pair of footfalls. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest and she had to shove one of her knuckles into her mouth to keep from making any shrill squeaks. Cate tucked herself further inward, trying to become even more smaller than she already was and praying to the dear Lord above that the footsteps would carry on down the hall and leave her in peace. However, she was never known for such luck.

Instead of fading into the distance, the footsteps paused for a moment just outside the room's entrance, then stepped inside. They took a few more steps into the room and then stopped. Cate's panic and fear was beginning to show. Her hands began to shake and in such a small space, this action caused the rest of her body to trembled uncontrollably. She didn't know which she preferred more, _hearing_ the footsteps and knowing someone was there, or _not_ hearing them and having no idea where they were. In the end, she decided the latter was far more frightening. She would give anything to hear them again and would be even more grateful to hear them retreat.

"Well now, clever indeed this intruder."

Except that. Oh, Lord it spoke! What now?! What if it found her?! She doubted she would be able to escape again. Not with her stuffed inside a barrel that was as large as she was tall and with a crate blocking half of the exit to boot. She wouldn't even get halfway out before whoever it was stopped her. For all her cleverness and wit, Cate had only succeeded in backing herself into a corner she had no chance from escaping. Luck, apparently, was not at all with her today.

"Now," The voice, which was clearly male and possessed a hint of a smokey quality to it, continued. Whoever he was, he sounded much too cheerful concerning the present situation. "If I was someone who didn't want ta be found, where would I be?"

A small squeak of fear nearly made it passed Cate's lips, but she shoved her knuckle further into her mouth and managed to swallow the noise. Barely. Her mind now, of all times, decided to throw out any sense at all and began thinking of every scenario imaginable that could possible occur. Images of frightening creatures swarming into the room and drowning her in dark shadows filled her head. And then that was replaced by some rather big, burly character lifting up the crate and reaching down and plucking her right out of the barrel by back of her collar and giving her a right shake. Or maybe, perhaps, he would knock over every single piece of furniture in the room and tear everything apart until her found her. Or even still, the character could quite possibly decide that-

Suddenly, something made Cate pause in her wild imaginings. She opened an eye (when had she close them?) and looked up through the gap at the top of the barrel and strained to hear whatever it was. The only thing that greeted her was silence. Dead silence. Silence? Why was it so quiet? Did whoever it was leave? Was while she was having a minor breakdown he had already completed his search and moved on? Was he even gone in the first place or was he hiding somewhere in the room waiting for her to climb out of her barrel? Perhaps he was waiting for her around some dark corner so he could jump out and snatch her up?

Not wanting to be over zealous about the prospect of escape, Cate remained silent and still for several for moments before deciding that, perhaps, it was safe to climb out. Carefully, and as quietly as she was able, she pressed her hands against the lip of the bottom of the crate and slid the crate sideways a little ways. Now the gap was large enough for her to pop her head out if she chose. Gently, she eased her body into a crouching position (a position that still allowed her to be hidden) and mindfully poked her head out just enough for her to see over the lip of the barrel. She looked left, towards the back of the room and found there was a smaller exit that probably led off to a cellar of some sort, then to the right where the main entrance lied. She saw no one about, yet knew that there were indeed roughly fifteen other persons running about in the house. Now was not the time to throw caution to the wind. Not yet anyway.

Cate gave the room two more sweeps before deciding if it was safe enough. She wasn't taking any chances. Not by a long shot. Nodding to herself in nervousness, she took a few deep breaths and than carefully slid the crate further away from her in order to make a larger gap that would allow her to climb out. However, she pushed the wooden box too hard and too far, causing it to slip off the lip entirely. Panicking fully now at the prospect of what kind of noise the crash would make, Cate forwent any sort of caution, rose fully to her feet, and reached out to catch hold of the blasted thing. She barely caught it in time before it made impact.

However, now her current predicament was slightly more awkward. She was halfway falling out of the barrel, clutching at a box that weighed like a ton, and now all the blood in her body was rushing to her head. One false move, and her entire balance would be upset, causing her would fall to the floor and the crate with her. Oh Lord above, why did she have to make matters worse every time she tried to improve them? Cate was honestly beginning to think that the soul reason this was happening to her was because God hadn't had a good laugh in a long while. Oh joy.

Still, she needed to figure out how to set the crate down, gently she might add, without alerting someone to her presence _and_ while trying not to fall over. And that, would be a challenge even in itself.

* * *

He figured, that the best way to flush the intruder out (he really didn't see the reason for calling the poor lad that, after all, it wasn't as if the poor thing planned on falling upon the table) was to wait patiently for him to come out on his own. Bofur knew that searching for the poor lad would only frighten him more. He would be scared too if he suddenly landed on a table surrounded by those he didn't know and then suddenly had a knife held to his throat. He too would have fled in search of safety. He was never a particularly brave Dwarf to start with.

So, he settled himself down in the corner off to the right between the main entrance of the room and another door that led off into the pantry. This position hid him from the sight of the three doorways and most of the hiding places in the room. After all, if he was going to wait someone out, he didn't need _them_ seeing _him_. Plus, with the lad being frightened and all, Bofur didn't want to cause him more panic. Wiggling slightly on the floor in the effort to get comfortable, Bofur reached into the belt pouch that was belted to his side and withdrew his carving knife and a small block of wood cut from an ash tree. He turned it experimentally in his hands and pondered over what exactly the little block should be. Something small, that much he was certain, for the block's volume wasn't more than five inches. This meant when the block took whatever shaped he willed it to, it would fit easily into a person's pocket.

Perhaps a tiny charm of some sort. Yes, that sounded quite nice. And so, he began to whittle.

About ten or so minutes later, Bofur was just adding the finishing touches to the tiny carving (it really was a small little thing and took little took no time at all to carve) when he heard scuffling coming from the other end of the room. He paused in his work, lifting his hatted head in the direction of the noise. It was coming from the line of barrels that sat against the west wall. Should he go and investigate? Or would it be better to wait a minute or two just to be safe? Bofur, who was never in a hurry for anything, decided it would be best to wait a moment or so to give the lad time to come out. He didn't think it would be wise if he jumped ahead of himself at every noise. The lad would come out eventually, Bofur just wanted him to come out on his own. He didn't like how some of the others way of going about handling the situation.

For instance, not too long ago, he heard Gloin in a different room going through every single nook and cranny and making quite a bit of racket in the process. Mr. Baggins could be heard having a right fit about how the older Dwarf had been throwing about more of his possessions. Bofur shook his head. Even if he didn't have as much experience in this sort of thing as some of the others, he sure as Mahal's beard knew that such rash actions would only send the would-be intruder further into hiding. Sometimes, the miner thought, warriors could be quite daft. He grinned. 'Course, this only proved to be entertaining for the rest of them.

Suddenly, Bofur heard a sharp squeak of surprise cut through the silence followed by the sound of something wooden scraping along a harder surface. There was a muffled _thump!_ and then a low groan of what sounded like frustration. He cocked an eyebrow. Well, now that was interesting. His curiosity peeked, the furry-hatted Dwarf quickly stowed away his knife and tiny carving before silently rising to his feet. Careful not to make any sudden or sharp movements, Bofur cautiously picked his way around bits and pieces of random furniture, climbed over a crate or two, and paused behind an opened spaced shelf (similar to the one in the middle of Mr. Baggins pantry). Pressing his back against the shelf in order to stay hidden from sight, he slowly turned his head and peeked through one of the spaces between two shelves. What he saw almost had him in stitches.

"Well now," Bofur chuckled quietly to himself, a broad smile stretched across his face and his eyes shining with mirth. "That's quite a predicament."

The intruder, now that he was able to get a closer look at the lad, was halfway hanging out of a barrel that appeared to be as tall as he was. He was clutching at a rather large crate in both hands however, Bofur could see by the strained expression on the lad's face, the box was far heavier than it looked. The lad was trying to lower the heavy item to the floor as carefully as possible without drawing any unwanted attention to himself, but the box was still a good six inches from the floor and the lad didn't have enough arm length to achieve his goal. In the end, the sight of someone hanging out of a barrel and struggling to place a heavy box to the floor while also trying not to fall out, proved to be quite amusing. As Bofur continued to observe the figure, he really took in the lad's physical appearance and was quite shocked to discover a fact that all of them had clearly missed.

"Well bless me!" Bofur exclaimed in a hoarse whisper of shock, his deep brown eyes growing in astonishment. He was so taken aback he nearly stumbled and fell into the shelve he was hiding behind. "The lad isn't a lad at all! Our lad, is a _lass_!"

* * *

She wiggled slightly, trying to lower her body another inch or two and praying that would be all it would take to finally get the blasted thing on the ground. No such luck. She leaned her head to the right so as to judge the remaining distance to the floor. She had about five or so more inches of empty space left between the bottom of the box and the wooden, planked floor.

"_Damn it!"_

At this rate, she wouldn't be able to hold onto the cursed thing. It's weight was becoming more and more noticeable by the minute. If she didn't find a way to put it on the ground soon, she would drop it. And if she dropped it, the noise would alert all the men she had seen to her location. And Cate _really_ didn't want to think about what would happen after that. Tears were beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. Whether they were from the pain her body was in from the fall, the fierce amount of stress her mind was in, panic, or from the strain the damned box was putting on her already sore shoulders, she didn't know. But they sure as hell were not helping her vision. She couldn't see!

No matter which way you sliced it, she was screwed. She was going to be found one way or another and once again, Cate's mind began running through every situation imaginable. She was going to die she just knew it! Normally she was quite a positive person and didn't let difficult situations bother her (aside from her frustration with her book), but this was not normal. _Nothing_ about what was happening to her at this moment was normal! So, any sort of logic or positive attitude went straight out the window. Oh, this was not how she imagined her death in the slightest! Then again, what if they didn't kill her? What if they kept her alive and used her for something even worse?!

Cate couldn't help but let out a moan of hopelessness and fear. Perhaps she should just give up. Let the blasted box fall and just accept the fact she was going to die. What was the point of fighting against fifteen men? They were bigger and stronger than she was. It was hopeless!

A floorboard creaked off her right and Cate, still hanging halfway out of the barrel, went ramrod straight in both fear and panic. Someone was in the room! Slowly, she turned her short, curly head in the direction of the dreadful noise. There, standing not but five feet from her (and hiding behind one of the few shelves in the room she might add) was one of the men she had been trying so desperately to escape. Raw fear hit her heard in the gut and she tried to scream but her voice had all but fled her. She was so scared she couldn't even make a single peep!

She tried to move, to wiggle herself back into the safety of the barrel but her limbs weren't responding to her mind's pleas. She couldn't even feel the immense weight of the crate anymore she was so numb! She was completely and totally frozen! She couldn't move, she couldn't scream, she couldn't do anything! This was it. He was going to call the others, she just knew it! One word from the strange man and her life was forfeit! She was going to die!

She stared at him and he stared back at her, neither one moving or speaking. Cate couldn't see him very clearly because of the shelve, but what she could see of him consisted mostly of his eyes (which were a rich chocolate brown and seemed to be speckled with flakes of amber), a light brown mustache that reached passed his chin and curled slightly at the ends, and on his head he wore some kind of strange, fur-lined hat. Or at least, it looked like a hat from her angle. In truth, she had no idea what it was. She was officially losing her mind.

"Are you," The strange man (who did not move from his spot behind the shelve, choosing instead to address her from the shadows of the surrounding furniture) asked, causing Cate to flinch sharply at his voice even though it held not a hint of harm. "Alright Lass?"

She blinked. Huh? Of all the things she imagined he would say or ask, this was not one of them. Was she alright? Was she alright?! What sort of question was _that?!_ Did she look alright to him?! No, she wasn't bloody alright! She was falling out of a damn barrel, trying not to drop an immensely heavy box for goodness sakes! Not to mention she had suddenly appeared in a house that was not her own, had been held at knife point (technically she was held by the blade of a knife, but she digressed), and to top it all off, she was being pursued by fifteen strange men she didn't know or had _any_ idea as to why the were chasing her! Did that sound like she was a person who was _alright?!_ Just who the heck _was_ this guy?!

Cate stared at the strange man owlishly, trying to find a way to get her mouth to work so she could voice her immense displeasure over his statement. However, she only succeeded in scrunching up her eyebrows in a rather comical look while her mouth hung slightly open. Not quite the effect what she was going for.

"I-I'm stuck." It seemed that was the only intelligible sentence her mind could come up with at the present moment.

"Well now," The man smiled, causing his slightly curled mustache to twitch. Again, he sounded very cheerful for a man who was supposed to be hunting her down. "I might be of some use there."

Cate eyed the man in apprehension, but took note that even as he spoke of his use in helping her, he did not so much as twitch from his own hiding place. She waited several seconds for him to make some kind of move towards her, but he never did. What was he playing at? He said he was able to help, so why wasn't he? And another thing, why in wide, wide world of sports was she attempting to _trust_ the man? Just because he didn't alert the others of her presence before, didn't mean that he wouldn't later. In fact, this so-called helping hand he was trying to extend to her, could very well be a ruse! What the heck was wrong with her! It was like back when she was a little kid and her parents told her not to take candy from strangers! And what was she doing?! Considering taking help from someone who could very well be the one who gets her killed in the first place!

But, then again, it wasn't like she was in a position to argue either. Especially not with her whole torso hanging out of a barrel and clutching a heavy crate for dear life. Oh dear Lord, what a sight she must look right now!

"If you're going to kill me, you may as well do it now." She relented solemnly, turning her eyes to the floor as unshed tears flooded her vision. What was the point of fighting back at this point anyhow? "I'm not exactly in a position to get away."

"What?!" The strange man sounded absolutely appalled by her rather blunt and hopeless surrender. In fact, he sounded more than appalled! "No, no, no, no! Lass, o'course I don't mean ta kill you! Whatever could've given you such a thought?"

"Isn't that what you were trying to do earlier?" Cate asked, still looking at the floor. She was surprised she was able to talk. Perhaps resigning herself to fate was the only thing keeping her sane.

The strange man was silent for a moment, then asked, "It alright if I come a bit closer ta you, Lass? Don't mean any harm, just want ta see you a bit better is all."

"Might as well," Cate consented morosely, still not bothering to raise her head. "It's not like I'm going anywhere fast."

There was a bit of shuffling, probably the man trying to maneuver his way around the spare furniture and crates. When at last he picked his way out of the mess, Cate heard his footsteps approaching her barrel, yet still didn't turn her head to see him. She wasn't sure if she wanted to or not, seeing as the last face she looked upon nearly slit her throat open. But then the steps came to a stop and Cate caught a glimpse of a pair of thick, heavy brown boots just out of the corner of her eye. Suddenly the man squatted down on her level, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet with his hands perched across his knees, and offered her a genuine wide smile.

"Bofur," He said warmly, lifting a hand up to swipe his rather comical hat from his head and ducked his braided head low. "At yer service Lass."

**Well now, I do love Bofur. Since seeing the movie I have just completely feel in love with his character! He's fun to write I must say. Sooo, on the topic of our favorite miner, how did I do with interpreting him, since he's the only Dwarf besides Thorin that I've written quite a bit on so far? I hoped this chapter earned you some laughs, while also not making Cate out to be some idiot of a girl. Young woman I should say. She's recovering. Slightly. Next chapter we'll see how well she reacts to meeting a 'good' Dwarf compared to a 'bad' Dwarf.**

**Cough *Thorin* Cough. Way to make a first impression, King Under the Yet to be Claimed Mountain.**

**Anyway, please leave me a nice, wonderful review in the box below and Chapter Nine will be out soon. Thank you everyone!**

**P.S. I can't imagine how the other Dwarves are going to react at finding Cate is a woman. Ha! Chaos abound!**


	9. Of Curiosity, Clumsiness, & Corrections

**Oh dear, I made a mistake. Do you all remember back in Chapter Five near the end when Thorin is taking in Cate's clothing? Well, there was an article I left out. A jacket of her's that's really beautiful and in my opinion Middle-earth worthy. There's a link to it on my profile if you want to check it out, but I will be going into detail with it in this chapter. I'm sorry for the mistake but I didn't think about it till now. The jacket is actually one I really own and I must say, it's very comfortable.**

**Also, Cate's hairstyle/hair length/and color (though in the story Cate's hair color is slightly more red than the photo) is also posted on my profile. Check it out sometime if you wish.**

**Chapter Nine  
**

**Of Curiosity, Clumsiness, and a not-so-gentle Correction  
**

Now that he was no longer hiding behind the shelf and other misplaced furniture, Cate could make out his physical appearance perfectly. He was currently still squatting, so she was unable to judge his height correctly but Cate put that at the back of her mind. Bofur had dark brown hair, almost black if you didn't look closely enough and much to her surprise, on each side of his head, were two large (and very curved) pigtails! Braided pigtails! She had seen men do some pretty strange things with their hair before, but this was . . . well, needless to say, this took the darn cake. Braided pigtails! Apart from the hair on his head and his very nicely curved mustache, Bofur also had a bit of scruff on his chin and a little bit of fuzz for sideburns, but nothing bushy or ill kept. He seemed to take rather good care of his hair.

Aside from the very different hairstyle, Bofur wore a lot of browns and tans. He was wearing some kind of tan overcoat that went all the way down to his knees and was fastened by a broad, faded white belt at his waist. The coat was also held together by a series of ties that traveled down the middle. Covering the cuffs, collar, and most of the front of the garment, were a series of zig-zag and block patterns, giving the strange coat a very unique design. His trousers, which seemed to be heavily padded, were a half shade lighter brown than his hair and were tucked into the tops of his rather furry boots. Cate could see he wore a light grey shirt under neath the coat (and more than likely he was wearing something under that too) because the shirttail stuck out from beneath the coat's hemline.

The only sort of real color that stood out, was the crochet scarf that was wrapped twice about his neck. It was quite pretty in Cate's opinion because it wasn't just one solid color. Or even two for that matter. It had a total (what she could see anyway) of four different colors and was put together in quite an orderly manner. Though, some of the hues clashed and collided but that didn't seem to bother the Dwarf. In fact, Cate rather liked it because of it's originally. Starting at both ends, a dark blue dominated the first ten rows or so before slipping into a rather faded, brick red which made up at least a good twenty to thirty rows before the color changed again and became a bright orange. How much of the scarf was orange, she couldn't tell because it was wrapped around his neck but somewhere along the way, the hue alternated again and became a steel gray. If there were more colors hiding in the knitted fabric Cate wouldn't be surprised, but over all she found the item to be rather homely and pleasant. Also, on his hands, were a pair of gray, fingerless gloves that stopped at his knuckles. These she could tell, were knitted. Abet roughly and not as neat as the scarf, yet they seemed sturdy and well made. They served a purpose and did it well.

Suddenly remembering that he had spoken to her, Cate shook herself from her musing and blinked in rapid secession. No one had ever bowed to her before, let alone offered her their service. Quite frankly, she was too stunned by the man's actions and words to formulate a decent response. How _did_ one reply to that?

"Um, " She hesitated, allowing her eyes to wander nervously around the room before falling back to the strange character. Bofur, her mind corrected. "Catelynn Jocelyn Martin, pleased to meet you." Then she looked down at her preoccupied hands and nodded to the heavy crate in her grasp, "I'd shake your hand but I'm afraid my hands are rather busy at the moment."

"Oh!" Bofur exclaimed, jumping to his feet in a flourish. "Allow me, Lass."

He quickly rushed forward and took hold of the heavy crate by the bottom, placing his gloved hands near it's center so as to take most of the weight. Once he had a good grip on the box, he raised his head and gave her a small nod of encouragement. "I've got a hold of it Lass, yer free ta let go."

"You sure?" She arched an eyebrow, still not entirely sure if she could trust him. "You're not gonna drop it the moment I do, right?"

"Oh Lass," Bofur chuckled lightly, causing his braids to quiver and the horizontal flaps of his hat to wobble. "If I wanted ta draw attention ta you, I would've done it long ago." Then his grin faded and his expression became solemn and serious and when he spoke next, his tone was heartfelt. "I meant it when I said I didn' mean you any harm."

"Forgive me if I don't entirely trust you." Cate retorted, still wary. Though, she did feel slightly reassured by his words.

Bofur frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in slight hurt. Then he asked quietly, "We really gave you a right scare didn' we?"

She swallowed hard and adverted her attention to the floor, ashamed that had she acted so irrationally and yet, at the same time, not entirely sorry. "I-I don't know where I am. Last I remember, I was on the couch reading a book to my cats. And now," She raised her head and nodded at the room around her. "Here I am. Whatever here is that is."

"How 'bout we worry 'bout tha' later, eh?" The strange-hatted man smiled broadly and gave a small chuckle. "First, let's get this out o' the way and then get you back on yer feet again."

Cate couldn't fight the crooked grin that pulled at the corners of her mouth. "I could live with that."

* * *

She was a bit awkward, that much was sure. However, Bofur found it was a quality that suited her just fine. She was cautious, yet not without humor. And she had a bright, wide, toothy smile. Anyone with a smile like that couldn't be all bad, not in his opinion anyway. But then again, his opinion didn't amount to much in the long run. He was going to have to take her to Thorin eventually and he knew for certain the Dwarf king wasn't going to be happy with her over the stunt she had pulled in the dining room. Not in the slightest. Bofur was dreading having to take her back to the one place she had just been trying to get away from, especially since he had just finished calming her down. Making her face the others might send her spiraling back into panic and making her uncomfortable when she was already scared enough as it is, was not something he wanted to do.

Still, he had some time left. Maybe he could find a way to keep her calm while reintroducing her to the other Dwarves.

Deciding to worry about it when the time came, Bofur pushed the thought from his mind and returned his attention to the girl (who's name was Cate if he recalled correctly) and the crate. He gave her a reassuring grin then said, "On the count o' three, I'm goin' ta lift this off you. Ready, Lass?"

The curly redhead steeled her expression to one of determination and nodded once in agreement. "Ready." She opened her mouth as if to continue, but paused for a moment in uncertainty. Then added, "Just-. Seriously, don't drop it."

His smile widened as he took in her dubious expression. She really was unsure if he was going to lift it off her or allow the box to fall to the floor. Nonetheless, he made his own countenance as serious and solemn as he possibly could before replying, "I swear by Mahal's great beard, tha' I won' drop it."

Cate appeared somewhat satisfied by his promise, if abet puzzled. "Alright then, let's get it over with."

Bofur nodded and repositioned his gloved hands so he could grip the bottom of the crate better. He reminded himself to go slow and easy so as not to startle her. Taking a deep breath, if anything to keep the girl calm, he began. "One."

"Two." She counted along.

"Three!" Both of them grunted in unison as he lifted the heavy crate entirely from her grasp with expert ease.

Unfortunately, without the added weight of the crate, the poor girl's balance, which was already upset in the first place, became even more out of sorts. The moment the heavy box left her hands, the girl tumbled fully out of the barrel and hit the floor with a resounding _thud! _Bofur grimaced at the sound and hurriedly set the crate on a different set of boxes so he could help the poor lass up. Bending down, he took the girl from under her arms and lifted her clear off her feet before setting her back on solid ground.

"You alrigh' Lass?" He asked hastily, not removing his hands from her upper arms just in case her sense of balance was still unstable. Then, he preceded to look her up and down for any sign of injury. "My sincerest 'pologies! I should've made sure you were ready an' all. Yer no' hurt, are you?"

However, now that he was this close to her, Bofur could really take in her physical appearance. The first thing he noticed was that she was taller than him, though not by much. An inch or two at the very most. The second thing he took note of, was her hair. It was short. Very, very short. Shorter even than Mr. Baggins curly mop of hair and that, in his opinion, was saying a lot. Not only was her hair abnormally short for a female, it was also a faded bronze that had gone a bit too brown, yet the red still shown through. And it was curly. Very curly. For each and every one of her locks wiggled in tiny, tight ringlets. And it was wild. The curls stuck out everywhere and at every angle imaginable, so much so that her hair resembled that of a neatly, trimmed little bush. They just refused to lay flat or in any sort of order. Bofur grinned, he rather liked it.

She also had bright, pale blue eyes. The kind that reminded him of the aquamarine gems he would occasionally find in the mines of the Blue Mountains. They weren't a very common stone, but they were by far one of his favorites. If only because they were uncommon. Each of her irises however, were surrounded by a dark indigo ring; a quality which only further brought out just how blue they truly were. Bofur could see that her eyes smiled a lot because of the faint lines that pulled at their corners. Overall, they were quite pleasant to look at.

Her clothing, on the other hand, was the strangest thing about her. The tunic she wore was fitted more in line to her shape, yet did not cling to it. It was a deep, forest green in color and it's sleeves stopped just passed the elbows. She also wore a pair of black trousers that were made of some kind of material he had never seen before. They too hugged her form, but just enough to complement her figure without being over bearing or too much. Her shoes however, the most out of the ordinary. They too were black and covered both feet completely, yet stopped at the ankle and went no further. Whatever material the were made out of, Bofur did not know. Yet, he was certain it was neither leather nor fur. They were sturdy however and made for mobility.

But, the most interesting garment she wore, and by far the most authentic, was her jacket. It was a dark charcoal color and was shorter in the front (which came down to the middle of her thighs) and longer in the back (which reached to the middle of her calves), thus allowing for mobility in case she needed to make a run for it. It was long-sleeved with long cuffs that hugged her wrists and part of her forearm. From there the sleeves became loose and baggy, thus allowing for mobility and breathing room. It also had a drawstring waistband and hood which hung low in the back. **1***

All in all, Bofur decided, her appearance was both strange and yet intriguing. She was definably not built like a gust of wind could blow her over. Her frame was sturdy and strong, much like those amongst his own race. Her hands were small, but wide and her fingers were short and thicker than most Humans. And also like Dwarves, most of her height was in her torso, meaning her legs were thick and well muscled in order to hold up the top portion of her frame. But as alike to the Dwarves as she was, Bofur could tell she was not one. Her ears were too small for one, about the normal size of those of the race of Men. Her nose was nowhere near as large as a Dwarf's should be. And as much as her build was similar to theirs, it was still too slim to be Dwarvish in any way.

Bofur supposed if you combined a Human and a Dwarf together, the girl would most likely be the result. The height and build of a Dwarf. Yet still the small facial features of a Human. A strange creature she was overall indeed.

"I'm fine." The girl stated with a sigh, causing Bofur to snap out of his thoughts and turn his attention away from her physical appearance. "Happens all the time."

After all, it wasn't very polite to be observing her the way he had. Even if his intentions were honorable.

"Though," Cate added as she dusted herself off and started to straighten out her clothing. "You can let go of my arms now. I'm not gonna fall over."

"Ah," Bofur drawled awkwardly, immediately retracting his hands and stuffing them into the pockets of his coat. "Righ'. Sorry 'bout tha' Lass."

* * *

Thorin was not at all pleased. Not pleased in the slightest.

"What do you mean," The dark-haired Dwarf demanded, his tone becoming more and more gruff with each word he spoke. "You cannot find him?"

Several weary pairs of eyes flitted to each other before falling back on their king and leader, looks of discomfort and, in the cases of the younger ones, guilt and plain out fear. Most of the Dwarves had gathered into the parlor to report in their findings but so far, much to Thorin's displeasure, none of them had found any sign of the intruder. Thorin, who had been leaning sideways against the mantlepiece with his arms crossed and looking quite vexed, pushed himself upright and angrily stalked to the middle of the room.

"He must be hiding somewhere within the house." He rumbled deeply, his stance becoming ridged and the fingers of his right hand began drumming against his left bicep. A nervous habit he had recently developed over the years. "He could not have escaped. We would have noticed if he had."

Of the Dwarves to report in, only Balin, Nori, Dori, Bifur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, and Ori had come up completely empty in their assigned areas. Gloin, Oin, Dwalin, and Bofur had yet to report back which could only mean that either they were being incredibly through, or they were having the same amount of luck. Thorin sincerely hoped it was the former.

"'Haps he's a better spy than we gave 'im credit fer." Mused Nori (who had settled himself deep into the shadows of one of the far corners, his pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth) under his breath, but Thorin heard nonetheless.

"We had better hope he is not." He growled, turning his icy, blue gaze to the Dwarf-thief and sending him a fierce scowl. "The secrecy of our Quest now hangs in the balance because of him. If we do not retain him immediately then quite possibly all of Middle-earth will soon learn of our cause. And then we will have more than Orcs and Wargs to concern ourselves with."

If Nori looked intimidated by Thorin's fool mood and enraged expression, the he did not show it. Instead, he just dipped his stared-head respectively in the king's direction and went back to his pipe. However, the dark-haired Dwarf kept his gaze fixed on the thief for a moment or two before ripping his eyes away and turning about so he could stare into the heart of the fireplace. His anger was warranted, no matter what the others thought. If the spy escaped, who knew who he would tell.

_"Or what." _Thorin thought to himself bitterly.

He raised a forearm and braced it along the edge of the mantlepiece, his anger festering like an old battle wound. This was his only chance to retake Erebor, his last hope for a better life, not only for himself and his nephews, but also for those who were left to remember their lives before the dragon. This was their chance to go home again and he would not allow this _spy_, to threaten and take away that hope. that chance. Not on his life. He would die before he let some _rat_ steal away what was rightfully theirs. Thorin Oakenshield was not one to go easy on those who became a threat to him or his people. The spy would be found and he would answer for his actions. Not to mention his own broken nose. That was a humiliation Thorin would not allow to go unpunished.

"Think carefully on what you are about to do, Thorin Oakenshield." A raspy, voice sounded from the other far corner of the room. All eyes turned to see Gandalf the Grey leaning against the door-frame between the parlor and the kitchen. "You may find that this spy, as you call him, is not who we think he is. It is very unwise and unsafe to jump to conclusions based only on fear."

"I did not ask for your opinion." Thorin snapped, not so much as turning to meet the wizard's gaze. Though, he did glare at him from the corner of his eye, looking passed a lock of dark hair that fell within his vision. "This is a matter that concerns only the well-being of my men and the quest alone. It concerns nothing of you."

Gandalf, who had been taking a draw at his pipe, sputtered angrily and stuffed the clay piece into his robes. Immediately the wizard rose to his feet, his grey robes fluttering in his haste. The room instantly darkened, a massive black shadow quickly passed over everything and everyone in the room, snuffing out every source of light. Even the immense fire that burned in its hearth diminished into darkness. And when he spoke it was with a terrible and harrowing utterance that rumbled and rolled, as if thunder itself had found a voice. His voice held so a power so raw and untamed, that the very contents of the room began to shake.

_**"DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE ME THORIN OAKENSHIELD! I HAVE LIVED THE LIVES OF OVER 300 MEN IN THIS WORLD, AND WITH MANY MORE STILL TO COME! I HAVE SEEN THE DOWNFALL OF MANY GREAT LEADERS AND KINGS AND ALL FOR THEIR STUBBORNNESS AND PRIDE! IF YOU REFUSE COUNSEL WHEN IT'S GIVEN WILLINGLY TO YOU, WILL YOU FALL INTO SHADOW AND BECOME CORRUPTED AND IGNORANT! DO NOT BE SO QUICK TO DEAL OUT JUDGMENT AND DEATH!"  
**_

Slowly, the blackness began to retreat from the room and receded back to the person who it originated from. The fire blazed back to life in the fireplace and any candles that had been snuffed returned aflame. Expressions of panic and pure fear were plastered across every Dwarf present. Even the faces of the war-hardened Balin and the lawless Nori had lost all sense of color. No one moved, or even breathed as Gandalf settled himself back against the door-frame and withdrew his pipe again. Though his gaze had not left Thorin's, who too had lost any previous complexion. In fact, the future King under the Mountain kept his head bowed yet his face void of any sort of emotion. However, it was clear that he understood the scolding.

Gradually, life began to seep back into the airless room. Mumbling and incoherent speech about nothing of great importance began to start up and soon the tense atmosphere soon melted away into near nothingness. However, a hint of uneasiness still hung suspended in the air. As if the slightest push in the wrong direction by any of them would set the wizard off again. Something of which none of the present Dwarves wanted a repeat of, for fear they would be the next unlucky soul to fall under the frightening and intimidating gaze of the Grey Pilgrim. An angry wizard was definably not something any of them enjoyed.

Thorin, on the other hand being the one who had been properly scolded, simply turned his back to the rest of the room and resumed staring deep into the heart of the fire. He had not received a tongue lashing of that caliber in roughly sixty years and it was a feeling he did not like in the slightest. Still, abet begrudgingly, he knew and understood the wizard's words. It was a piece of wisdom he'd due well to remember, even if it was only to keep what had just occurred from happening again. He would not give the wizard another reason the lecture him or allow himself to be scolded like a Dwarfling in front of his friends, or in his case, his men. No, he had experienced more humiliation and scolding this night than in the past sixty years of his life. He was not going to allow it to happen again.

So, Thorin stowed the wizard's counsel deep in his mind for later use. He would listen, but that did not mean he had to admit _aloud_ he was wrong.

* * *

**1* **I highly recommend visiting my profile for my link to the jacket's appearance. I'm afraid I did not do it justice at all.

**Well, since I knew we weren't going to have a Gandalf moment like the one in the movie, I decided to make my own. It was very difficult because I wanted whatever came out of his mouth, to sound like something an angry Gandalf would say. I hope I did well on that subject anyway.**

**As for Cate and Bofur, please keep in mind that this is a friendship/family type story (for now anyway). So don't try to connect any dots that aren't there. Cate is new to Bofur and Bofur is new to Cate. They're fascinated by the other because they haven't met another person like them before. Okay? Plus, Bofur wasn't being inappropriate intentionally. He was just taking in every detail about her because he was curious, then he realized what exactly he was doing that was properly embarrassed about it. **

**Besides, for those girls reading out there, raise your hand if you ever looked at a guy for way too long because you thought he was cute or interesting?**

***Raises hand as high as possible***

**Guilty as charged Your Honor!**

**Exactly, the decent guys anyway will feel guilty about it and advert their eyes. Guys who really don't care will just keep looking. That's how I sort it out anyway. But, that's me personally. Anyway, I hope this chapter was satisfactory for everyone. Please leave me a review in the box below and I'll have Chapter ten out soon.**

**Good NITE!**


	10. Luck Has Forsaken Me

**Alright everyone! Here is the REAL Chapter Ten! The last chapter I posted was truly a mess and did not have much flow at all. This one I must say, I'm VERY pleased with. It took me roughly seven hours to fix the amount of mess I had made in my last post, but it's all sorted out now. I REALLY love this one!**

**READ ON!**

**Chapter Ten**

**Luck Has Forsaken Me  
**

Now free of dust and any old tattered bits of yarn that may have clung to the fabric of her clothing, Cate felt her discomfort return. This man, Bofur, was still a mystery to her and his true intentions remained unclear. Why he helped her out of the barrel she did not know. Even for his act of what seemed like genuine kindness, she did not feel it was enough for her to blindly trust him. With that in mind, it suddenly hit her that she had given the strange man her name! What a foolish, stupid thing to do! First she excepted help from someone she didn't know and then, to top it all off, she'd told him her name! And not just her nickname, no she had to tell him her _full_ name! Well that summed everything up in a nutshell, she was hopeless. Officially, completely, and utterly hopeless.

Already she had broken two key important rules. One, never except help from someone who could very well end up killing you (or worse) and Two, never, ever, under any circumstances, give out your name to anyone you don't know or trust. At the rate she was going, Cate was going to break every rule in the damn book! She just didn't know when to keep her big mouth shut, did she? She inwardly sighed and cursed herself for being so stupid. If Abbey was here now, her sister probably would have given her the biggest Gibbs-slap of her life and she most likely would be lying in a hospital bed suffering from brain damage from it too. Cate wished her little sister was here with her now.

Abbey could function under pressure, she could not. Abbey would have some sort of plan or idea. She, on the other hand, couldn't even fight her way out of a paper bag without hurting herself in some way. Why did Cate always have to be the one to find herself in messes like this? Wait, she took that back, she had never been in a situation like this one before. This was a whole new ballgame. Though, it shouldn't really be surprise her that some sort of misfortune befell her. Cate never really had much luck to begin with. However, she always had her sister to help her. For the first time in her life, Cate had to deal with a fairly big challenge on her own. Without any help whatsoever from those she could count on. She was completely alone in a strange world, with strange people chasing her, and not with a damn clue what to do.

"Lass?"

Bofur's cautious tone abruptly broke through her thoughts, startling her. Cate's head came up so fast (when had she lowered it?) that the left side of her neck gave a small spasm and a bolt of lightening shot upwards at the movement. She gasped in pain and clutched a hand to the muscle just under her ear, as if the action would bring some sort of comfort. The strange-hatted man grimaced in obvious shame as she pursed her lips together to keep from crying out. After a moment of two, the pain passed and Cate rolled out her neck to make sure it was not seriously hurt. She hated it when it did that. One would think she would have learned by now that jolting her neck like that was painful. But she always seemed to forget, along with several other details that she would probably be reminded of before the day was through.

"Yes?" Cate replied tightly, her teeth gritted together in pain, and still rubbing away the last of the soreness just under her ear. She was just a bit irritated at the moment and didn't feel like talking until her muscles had returned to normal.

"You alrigh' there, Lass?" Bofur asked apprehensively, clearly looking apologetic for startling her and causing her pain.

Cate was really starting to feel annoyed at the question. Didn't she already establish that absolutely none of this was 'alright'? It was starting to irritate her, but that was also because her neck decided to spasm on her. Which wasn't really his fault (it was her own), but her mood was slowly deteriorating again. Instead of fear dominating her emotions, anger was starting to filter through. However, she understood that the anger was just another cover for her fear; by trying to keep that fear under control, her other emotions were running rapid just underneath the surface. She was an emotional time bomb ready to go off at any moment and if she didn't try to keep some kind of control over herself she would burst, and probably not in a very pleasant way.

"Peachy." She retorted, her tone clipped and strained. She inwardly wanted to smack herself, taking her feelings out on him was not right, even if she didn't fully trust him. So she followed up in a much softer tone, "I'm fine, just . . . confused."

The strange-hatted man nodded thoughtfully to himself and raised a gloved hand to rub the fuzz on his chin. "Perfectly understandable."

Cate resisted the urge to snort. How any of this was understandable she didn't know. And how he made any sense out of it was even less. Perhaps he was just saying that to make her feel better. If that was the case, he was doing a very poor job of it. The only thing that would make her feel better at this point was to suddenly appear back in the comfort of her own home, with Kyo and Arya, and her nice, big, warm, four-poster bed. That would most certainly make her feel better. However, Cate knew that wasn't going to happen anytime real soon. She had the distinct feeling she was going to be here a while before she even saw her home, or her cats, again. A fact that did not sit well with her in the slightest.

* * *

Both the bedroom, which he concluded must be the hobbit's, and the study came up empty. There was no sign of the intruder in either room and it was the lack of productivity that was slowly eating away at Dwalin's mood. He hoped some of the others had better luck than him, for if not, Thorin's dark mood was only gowning to grow darker. This would then result in everyone's mood turning black. Though, he most certainly could understand and relate to why Thorin felt so angry. Dwalin himself felt the same way for that matter. The intruder was putting every thing they worked so hard to achieve, at risk. If he now knew of the quest, who knew who he would tell. Then an even blacker thought entered the tall Dwarf's mind. What if there someone outside of their kin who had knowledge of their plans?

If that was true, then was the intruder sent here as a spy?

He wasn't going to pretend he understood what the blue and white lights were that brought the intruder falling down upon them. That sort of thing fell more in line with Óin, who was always reading prophecies and finding some sort of symbolism for the simplest affair. The only thing the lights meant to Dawlin, was trouble. And where there was trouble, he would stand at the ready, twin axes in hand. Not to mention a very wonderful, well-crafted war-hammer Balin had given him fifteen years ago as a gift. Oh yes, the hammer was most certainly one of his favorites.

Dwalin shook his head. This was not the time for such things. He had an intruder to find and bring to Thorin. He hadn't failed him before and he most certainly was not going to fail him now. Not because the dark-haired Dwarf-prince was the rightful King Under the Mountain, but because Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, was a brother to him. Not just in battle or on the training field, but also because they had shared a lot of similar pains and gains. They had both lost loved ones in battle, they had shared a lot of interests as far as weapons and craftsmanship was concerned, and even their rough, dry humor was the same. When Thorin allowed himself to show it at least.

No, Dwalin did not follow Thorin because he was prince or king. He did not follow him for glory or gold. He did not follow him for honor or wealth. Dwalin, second son of Fundin, and younger brother of Balin, followed Thorin Oakenshield for brotherhood and family. For in the end, that was all they had left. They had no home, no power, no wealth, nothing of any of that sort. All they had was each other and the strength of their backs and their souls. And for Dwalin, it was all he needed.

With these thoughts in mind, the burly Dwarf took one last look around the bedroom, then turned on his heel and headed for the door. Perhaps Bofur, as strange as the Dwarf was, had better luck than he had. He might as well check on the Dwarf's process, if only to make sure he wasn't slacking off or doing something foolish. He enjoyed a good laugh every now and then, but when a task was put before him, Dwalin dedicated everything to it. Especially if it came from Thorin. Bofur could use a nudge in the right direction every now and then, even if the Dwarf was very good at deduction.

As Dwalin made his way down the hall towards the storage room where he had last seen the furry-hatted Dwarf, he heard the unmistakable sound of voices coming from the very same area. One he recognized a Bofur's, the other was completely unknown to him. Without any hesitation, the burly Dwarf thundered the rest of the way down the hall, knowing the unknown voice had to belong to the very person every Dwarf in Bag-end was searching for. Of all the Dwarves, Bofur had been the one to find the intruder.

* * *

The lass had gone uncomfortable again and Bofur couldn't help but frown. Every time he thought he was making progress with her, she would raise her guard and her mistrust of him would outweigh any positive influence he might have had. It was challenging to say the least. He had no idea how to go about getting her to trust him, for he knew she needed someone to help her. The problem was convincing her he really didn't mean her harm. So they stood there, parallel with the storage entrance, each staring at the other with measured caution and uncertainty. However, before he could try a different approach, he caught the sound of fast approaching, heavy booted footsteps.

Just as Bofur turned his head in the direction of the hallway, the owner of said footfalls came rushing about the corner. Standing there before them, filling almost the entire width of the doorway, was the massive, intimidating frame, was the stout form of Dwalin the Dwarf. He crossed his thick arms over his barrel chest and made his expression blank and unreadable. Bofur found himself sending a silent pray to Mahal that the Dwarf hadn't drawn any of his knives. That above all things would have set the lass of again. Speaking of the lass . . . Out of the corner of his eye, Bofur saw the young woman go as stiff as a plank of wood. Her face drained of all color (she had almost fully recovered from her first scare) as she took in Dwalin's rather large berth and he saw her hands begin to shake.

"Good," The burly Dwarf rumbled gruffly, looking her up and down yet still not moving from his spot in the door. Bofur noted that as the Dwarf spoke, her eyes widened slightly in growing fear. Thankfully though, Dwalin did not make any attempt to remove any of his weapons. "Least one of us caught 'im. Thorin'll be impressed Bofur."

The former miner grimaced, yet kept his eyes fixed on the tattooed Dwarf. He dared not look in the young woman's direction for he could almost feel the betrayal, hurt, and fear rolling off of her. Yes, of course Thorin would be impressed, even though it was never Bofur's intention to gain any sort of favor from the king. He rather liked being left as is as far as the politics of kings were concerned. Messy business and all, in his opinion.

"Er," He struggled to come up with some sort of decent response but for once, words seem to fail him. "Righ'. O' course."

He gave a small nod in Dwalin's direction who just offered him a barely identifiable smirk, then made a beeline for the lass who, if all possible, stiffened even more, and addressed her rather roughly.

"Yer comin' with me." The burly Dwarf grunted as he stopped directly in front of her, fixing her with a hard, unyielding gaze. "There's some questions tha' need answerin' and if ya know wha's good fer ya, you'll answer 'em truthfully. The king doesn' take well ta liars and spies."

This time Bofur did turn his head to look at her. Her face was pale, making the dark dots on her face stand out in drastic contrast to her skin, her blue eyes were stretched wide in unmistakable fear, and her hands were gripping the hem of her tunic so hard that her knuckles had turned white. It was quite obvious that Dwalin scared her far more than he himself had and Bofur wished he could say something to put her at ease. However, he knew if he opened his mouth he would only do more harm than good at this point. He felt slightly guilty that all this was happening to her, for she seemed to have a good disposition, that he had seen anyway. She didn't look like a spy, nor acted like one either, but then his cousin always told him that looks could be deceiving. He didn't know her, just like she didn't know him.

Perhaps, after taking her to Thorin, they could discover just a little more about the lass and find out why exactly she was here. If she even knew herself.

* * *

The moment she saw the man, she immediately panicked. Cate had never seen anyone look so intimidating before, at least not in person. Everything about this man was large, thick, and heavily muscled. Each of his arms alone were as thick as her one of her thighs and his shoulder length had to be twice that of her own. Dark brown hair (slightly accented with hints of grey) seemed to cover every inch of his face and some of his head with the exception of the very top, which was bald. However, highly detail geometrical shapes were tattooed into the skin of his skull in dark blue ink. The shapes were arranged in some sort of design that was probably significant to him in some way but completely unknown to her.

Not only was his head tattooed, but also the backs of his hands (once she looked passed the pair of very wicked looking knuckle-dusters that covered them). But it was not shapes that covered his hands, but rather some sort of strange runes. Cate would place a guess that the runes were their language in written form. After all, she had read plenty of books that showed examples of them, but the runes the man's hand were not like any runes she had seen before. It was not a language she recognized in the slightest.

Aside from the strange tattoos, the man wore a faded green shirt that was in turn covered by some sort of furred garment that she couldn't quite place. Slung over the furry piece, was a harness constructed of thick, heavy leather that was attached to a large metal ring in the center. From her position she couldn't tell if the harness carried anything at the present moment but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that it was meant to hold weapons. Very large ones judging by how large the harness actually was.

Tearing her eyes from the harness, Cate noticed that, much like Bofur, the man wore a pair of dark brown, heavy padded trousers complete with a fairly large leather belt that had two rows of holes and two prongs. She noted there was also several different sets of knives and daggers that hung from that belt and two more were strapped to his forearms. On his feet were a pair of fur topped boots whose laces wrapped around the calve before tying off near the top. Overall, he was quite a frightening figure and one she most certainly did not want to anger.

However, still a large part of her felt that following him anywhere was not exactly in her best interest. As such, she realized she had a choice. She could do what he said and still end up dying for whatever reason they had, or she could try to flee again. She knew she wouldn't be able to outrun the two of them, but one never knew unless they tried. Cate always told herself, if ever the need arose in such situations like this, that she would never give in or give up. If she was to die, then by the light of heaven she would die fighting every step of the way. She was not just going to give up and let them have their way. If they wanted her, then they would have to catch her. And if they caught her, then she would continue to fight until her body lay beaten and broken. She would die knowing she didn't let them break her spirit.

She spared a glance at Bofur, who did not turn to look at her, and could see in his brown eyes what looked like a hint of guilt. Personally, she didn't know what to think of him at this point. She was angry with him, that much she could figure. He had kept her preoccupied while his friend here could try and box her in. He had been nothing but a distraction and because of that, Cate chided herself for ever trusting him. Even if that trust was very small at the time. This just proved that whatever trust she did have in him, was misplaced. There was no one here she could trust, not even a little. And that scared her. It scared her that wherever she had landed herself, there was not a soul that cared or wanted to honestly help her. She was alone.

Yet, she had herself and her spirit. Even if she was alone, she would still fight back. She wasn't going to lay down and die. Not on her life.

"Sorry boys," She raised her head slowly and looked both men in the eyes. Pale blue meeting deep brown and hard green for one split second before, "Not a chance."

Then she bolted for the one of the other two exists that lay directly behind her. A thick hand reached out to take hold of the hood of her charcoal jacket but she swerved just enough to the left to avoid it. There was a roar of anger from the larger of the two men, who were both now in hot pursuit. She darted to the exit on the right, which led into what might have been a pantry at one point, but now was barer than her friend Alexis' fridge. And that was saying something. The increase of pounding of feet behind her signaled that they were gaining, but Cate only pushed her legs faster. Praying that she would find a door soon that led out of this beehive.

She left the pantry behind as she emerged into a rather long hallway that led off in two different directions. Cate immediately made a hard left, nearly tripping over a floor rug as she did so. She quickly regained her balance and pushed on, the sound of heavy boots not far behind. She passed a kitchen, which was quite a mess if she did say so herself, but knew that was not a room that would save her and kept going. Down the hall she continued to run until a light in one of the rooms ahead caught her eye. Thinking it may very well in fact be her salvation, Cate put whatever strength she had left in her into her legs and made a beeline for it.

When she was close enough, she made a hard right but this time she did trip. Her foot connected hard with the corner's baseboard and she fell head first into the room, her face meeting the wooden floorboards with a terrible _smack! _She groaned in both pain and frustration, but forced herself to her feet, if a bit unsteadily. She staggered, reaching out for anything to stable herself with. Her hand met something that felt like a high-backed chair and when she pulled herself fully upright, she saw for the first time just what sort of room she had fallen into.

"Oh shit." It escaped her as a tortured whisper.

For the room was full of men both tall and short, large and small, broad and thin. Just about every single one of them had beards, though they were all in different colors and done in different styles. And all of them had turned to stare at her. Suddenly Cate heard the footsteps that had been chasing her also enter the room before coming to a sudden halt. Silence hung in the air like death as she fully took in the scene before her. She blinked. Then blinked again. This. Could. Not. Be. Happening. Her throat went dry in an instant and she felt quite lightheaded.

"Dear Lord above," Cate whispered as she took in the fifteen unknown faces staring back at her. "Spare me."

**BAM! Weren't expecting THAT were you! HAHAHAHA! That was so much fun to write! I hope everyone likes this version of chapter ten even better than the last, because I really wasn't in my game the last time. THIS is what happens when I'm on a roll! I hope the Guest that left me that really helpful review finds this most satisfactory and not as melodramatic as the last version of Chapter Ten was. **

**Personally, I think this one is an improvement. I hope everyone else does as well. If not, I'm sorry but this Chapter works much better than the other. And it's my story. I want to IMprove. Anyway, thank you all for being patient on this one and I hope you all enjoyed the ride. Next Chapter is going to be FUN!**

**Haha!**

**Please leave me a nice review in the box below and I'll have Chapter Eleven out as soon as possible. I'm wiped at the moment.**

***passes out on couch***

**ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz!**


	11. A Woman?

**Hello again! I'm sorry for being late, I've been pulling longer shifts at work this week and have been way too tired to finish this chapter. But, it's ready to rock and roll. Which is probably a good description on how this chapter flows actually. Anyway, I want to thank WackyWillow for supplying me with a new term for Dwarves. **

**Dwarrows. Which I was very familiar with but I was not however familiar with the apparent female version, dwarrowdam. Now, I'm not sure whether or not these terms are to be capitalized or not, so in this chapter, they are not. If they are, let me know and I will change it so it is correct.**

**Now, on with the show! **

***Laughs evilly***

**Oh what a show it will be!**

**Chapter Eleven  
**

**A Woman?  
**

At the sound of fast approaching footsteps, Thorin immediately tore his brooding gaze away from the flickering flames and towards the little hallway just off his left. Just as he turned his head, he was meet with a rather comical sight. Though, under the stress of present circumstances, he did not so much as twitch. A blur of black, auburn, and charcoal suddenly came around the corner as if the very devil himself was at his heels and tripped over the corner baseboard, falling head first into the room. The figure hit the floor, his face slamming hard into the wood and filling the room with a terrible, wincing _smack!_ Thorin felt himself physically cringe at the sound yet was taken so aback by the figure's entrance, that he made not a move to either restrain him or to assist him.

The figure let out a low moan of what sounded like both pain and frustration, then forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly at the action and clutching at his forehead in obvious pain. With his free hand he reached out for additional support, gripping the back of one of the hobbit's high-backed armchairs and pulling himself fully to his feet. With such slowness, the stranger lifted his head and once he had, blinked rapidly as he fully took in the room around him. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as his eyes fell upon every one of the Dwarves, Gandalf, and Thorin himself.

"Oh shit." For the first time, Thorin heard the stranger speak and yet it did not sound like any ascent he had ever heard before. Nor did it sound entirely male.

The stranger continued to gaze about the room, his face growing paler and pale as he did so. Then time seemed to catch up with the dark-haired Dwarf king, for Dwalin and Bofur rounded the corner not a moment later. They both came to a sudden halt, Bofur almost running smack dab into the larger Dwarf, who had stopped suddenly, and his strange, fur-lined hat nearly fell from his braided head in the process. The air in the room had thicken to an almost unbearable weight and a silence so deafening, seemed to thunder in Thorin's ears.

"Dear Lord above," Again the stranger's voice sounded, but something about the way he spoke only seemed to put Thorin even more on edge. It was far too foreign and unknown to him, and that fact alone only served to heightened the dark-haired king's suspicions even more. "Spare me."

It was as if someone had thrown a twitch inside him. Every muscle in his body tensed, like the way a cat will bunch it's muscles in preparation to pounce or fluff it's fur in order to make it look far larger than it actually was. Thorin's gaze flickered once to Dwalin, who was too fixated on the strange before him to even met the king's gaze, and concluded that it was he who had discovered the stranger's hiding spot and drove him out. He returned his attention to the intruder, who now stood before him looking about the room in obvious, and quite fearful, despair.

"You." Thorin rumbled darkly with barely controlled rage. His gaze had become so thunderous, Balin sent him a cautioning look from the corner of his eye.

The intruder, who had been staring unseeingly in Nori's direction, suddenly sprung to life, snapping his petrified eyes to Thorin's stormy blue ones. Instantly, he seemed to shrink. Growing smaller and smaller beneath his withering gaze. If it was at all possible, the intruder's eyes grew even larger.

"M-me?" He squeaked, his voice reaching a pitch that was most uncomfortable for Thorin's ears. He looked about to see if there was someone else that Thorin could possibly be talking too, but then began to realize that it was he that the dark-haired Dwarf was addressing.

The Dwarf king took a step forward, crossing his arms firmly across his barrel chest. Instantly the intruder took a step back as if prepared to fly from the room, yet as he did so, he collided with Dwalin's torso, who had been standing directly behind him. The intruder closed his eyes slowly and could only stand still as he began realized that any chance for escape had long since passed. Dwalin clamped his hands tightly down upon the intruder's shoulders, thus preventing him from moving or trying anything that could injure someone. He was trapped. And this time, there would be no escape for him. Thorin would see to that.

He came ever closer, causing the small figure to shrink ever more against Dwalin's burly form. Terror plain as day shone brightly in his eyes, but Thorin paid it no mind. He had brought this upon himself. He stopped directly in front of him, leaving just enough space to allow the intruder to breathe, yet also close enough to keep him in check if need be. Thorin was not going to take any chances with this one, especially not since such a small being had been able to take advantage of him. He could almost feel his nose twitch unpleasantly at the memory. It was beginning to do that every time he recalled the moment in which the intruder's foot had collided with his face.

Ripping his mind away from the memory, Thorin finally took in fine details of his little 'spy'. At most, he was around his own height, perhaps even a little taller (a fact that did not sit well with him at all). As before, he wore a pair of black trousers that fitted more to his shape rather than hanging loosely about him. His shoes were also black and were made of some unknown material. Again, these were facts Thorin had already observed. Skipping passed all else, his eyes finally stopped at something he had NOT noticed before.

A strange outer garment of some sort. It was a deep charcoal gray and was fastened by some sort of metal piece that ran along a metal track that traveled the length of the coat (he assumed it was such). It was longer in the back (which reached down to the middle of the intruder's calves) and shorter in the front (here reaching only to the middle of it's thighs). It's sleeves were long and reached down to his wrists, were the cuffs became long and tight. He assumed this was to allow the spy to be able to fight without the sleeves becoming a hindrance to him. The rest of the piece was loose in places such as around the legs, chest, and upper arms, thus allowing for breathing room. About the waistline there was a draw-sting, allowing the waist to be drawn in and give the wearer shape and form. There was also a wide hood that hung low in the back, complete with mantel.

Overall, it was quite a durable looking piece. Allowing for both movement and maneuverability, yet not without a unique style that wasn't overly flamboyant or out of place. It also looked quite warm, thus not letting the wearer to suffer from colder climates. It looked very well-made and seemed to provide the necessities needed of the one who wore it. In fact, the coat's style reminded him of something a Ranger of the North would wear. The Dúnedain. Could this intruder, this 'spy', be one of those lost wanders? But, how could he? Rangers, both male and female, were typically tall, dark-haired, and bore gray eyes like those of elves. This (whatever he was) being possessed pale blues eyes, was of short stature, and sported hair that more or less resembled auburn rather than black or dark brown.

Of course, now that he was full observing the intruder, Thorin also took in his physical features as well as their clothing and now he had a closer look, something else made him look twice. The intruder's waist was drawn in way too much, allowing the figure to look more curved and as his eyes continued to wander over the intruder, he noticed that his chest was not flat. Immediately, Thorin felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water down his back and he took an abrupt step backwards, away from the figure clamped in Dwalin's hold. This was not a male who stood before him. No. The being was _female!_ And the look of absolute terror within her pale blue eyes (which he had before dismissed) struck him with such force, he felt as if he had been burned by a smoldering iron.

"Who _are_ you?"

His tone was not angry, nor was it demanding. This time, he spoke with pure shock clear in his tones and the sound that escaped him could not be heard by anyone who was not standing right next to him. No one, save for Dwalin, Bofur, and the poor frightened creature who stood shaking in complete fear of him.

* * *

She was so utterly confused (not to mention being currently plain out terrified) by the question. Well, perhaps not by the question itself. More like the man's sudden change in demeanor towards her right before his sudden, strangely said question. Just a few moments ago, the dark-haired man (the very same one who tried to knife her in the beginning, she might add) looked about to murder her (for the second time, no less) and yet, for some strange reason Cate wasn't going to pretend to understand, he stopped. Then, his eyes widened slightly as if seeing her for the first time and he backed way from her as if she spat in his face or something. She wasn't even going to comment on how much of a leech he was, what with the fact he had been looking her up and down and paying more attention to certain features than was necessary. She inwardly shuttered. When men did that it didn't usually bode well for the young woman being held physically against her will.

Cate blinked, drawing herself back to his question. Was he really looking for an answer? Did he expect her to speak? How the bloody hell was she supposed to do _that?!_ She couldn't even stop her hands from shaking (which at the moment were so twisted in the hemline of her jacket that no one could separate them) or get her heart to calm down, let alone talk! This guy just scared the living hell out of her, not once but _twice_ now, and he was expecting her to _talk_ to him?!

She wasn't sure what to do. Her mind was racing at what had to be the speed of light and the muscle beating in her chest was pounding so fast she feared it would just up and give out on her. In fact, was it possible to really die from fright? Could her heart just give out on her because of all the stress and fear and adrenaline? If so, how long would it take? Would it be painful? Would she die instantly or would it take a few minutes? Why in the world was she thinking about _dying?! _She had to stop all these panicked thoughts before they really _did_ end up killing her! Though, at this point, Cate didn't know if she could. She felt far too gone to do anything _other_ than panic. What she would give to be back on her couch with Kyo and Arya and perhaps, even on a plane to Bot Con. She'd give just about anything to be anywhere than here.

"I-I . . ."

She wasn't sure if she was trying to speak or just making noises like a dying fish. The shaking was becoming worse and she felt it travel from her hands all the way up her arms and down to her feet. Panic was beginning to claw at her throat again and for the first time in several years, Cate felt a full on Panic Attack taking hold of her. With all the running and the hiding and the strange men finding her and knives and this overwhelming fear and . . and this particular dark-haired man standing in front of her demanding things that she wasn't sure she could answer . . . She couldn't breathe. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of her. Her eyes began to wander the room again, taking in roughly fifteen men who looked about as rough as anyone could get.

It happened so fast Cate wasn't sure how it _did_ happen. All at once any remaining strength she still possessed, fled her entirely. It was as if someone had opened a dam and all the water came rushing out. She dropped to the floor like a stone, her knees buckling under her weight and ending up in a sitting position with both her legs off to one side. Her eyes flitted back to the dark-haired man, watching him with wide eyes. What she was looking for in him, she did not know. Perhaps any sign that he might put another knife to her throat?

That would have been understandable. But it seemed that her emotions and stress and fear had finally caught up with her. Cate remembered vaguely that she thought of herself as a ticking emotional time bomb, ready to go off with no warning. Well, it appeared her fuse had finally run out. And, for the third time that day, she broke another rule. But this rule was not like any of the rules her parents or teachers or anyone else had taught her. No, this was one of her own rules. A personal rule. And her most important one at that.

Without any warning whatsoever, Cate, from her place on the floor, surrounded by men who probably were going to end up killing her anyway, burst into tears.

* * *

When his hands first clamped down on the person's shoulders, he almost let go immediately. For they did not feel like the shoulders of a male at all. True, they were muscled and strong but there was something about them that did not sit right with Dwalin. Despite the muscle and the strength that was there, the shoulders felt too slim. Not thin per-say, but slim. Like that of a . . . Realization so strong hit him dead on and he had to fight the sense to reel back in the same fashion Thorin had.

In fact, he was so stunned that he never noticed the figure in his hold beginning to shake. And violently at that. He sure as Mahal created him noticed when the small being suddenly dropped away from him and landed on the floor in a small heap. Dwalin's attention ripped away from Thorin, who he had been staring at in shock (whether in his own or at Thorin's), and down at the small bundle who was shaking so badly that he could visibly _see_ the movement. His large hands were still poised in their previous position, as if he still held his (no _her_) shoulders in custody. Before he could even think of lowering them, or doing anything with them for that matter, the poor frighten creature suddenly buried her head in her hands and began to sob.

This time, Dwalin _did_ reel backwards as if he had been burned. He had not been expecting this sort of reaction. In fact, how he had missed the fact their intruder was not a man at all, but a _woman_, he could not fathom. He must have been so caught up with the prospect of their quest being at risk, and still was for that matter, that he had failed to really observe who exactly Bofur had caught in the first place. That was his first mistake. His second was addressing the woman (who he went under the assumption that she was a _he_) with such a hostile and formidable approach. That, he realized, was what had caused her to flee from them in the first place.

He had threatened a woman.

Dwalin was many things. A Warrior, a shield-brother, a friend, and even the second son of a lord himself. He was NOT, however, one to ever threaten the well-being of a woman. _Any_ woman for that matter. Among his kind, there were too few of them. Many of them were already married and still some of them held the wish to never marry. Even some of them had fallen in love with dwarrows who was already wed and spent the rest of their lives pining after them. Dwarrowdams were renown and respected because of how few they were and for the lives they brought forth. Giving birth to dwarrowdam was cause for celebration even more so than birthing a son, at least, outside of the lines of royalty were sons were imperative in order for the line to continue.

Dwarves valued their women, even more so than Elves or Men. They were of equal status with dwarrows, unlike those among the race of Men who had their women play more subtle and quiet rolls. Though, most dwarrowdams preferred the quiet roll (if you could call a dwarrowdam quiet, most were very much like their men in personality and very unafraid to voice their opinions) of wife and mother, or those who had chosen that path for themselves. Those who never married often found work that fit their interest, whatever it may be. They were encouraged to become whatever they pleased, as long as it stayed with the laws of their kind.

Dwalin had never before acted with such a brutish and disrespectful manner towards a female. He always spoke politely and refrained from anything short of crude in their presence. Despite his size and the intimidating air he gave off, most Dwarves forgot he was the son of a lord. And because of his position, he too was brought up with the highest respect for those of the opposite sex. His own mother had seen to that, for both her sons. And while it was true that Balin was more at ease with words then he was, Dwalin was perfectly able to respond diplomatically too. He, on the whole, just wasn't comfortable with it. He was more of a Dwarf of action than words, and sometimes that wasn't always a bad thing.

However, his actions towards the poor sobbing creature in front of him had been nothing short of deplorable and outright brutish. And he, with a heart made of the heaviest of iron, knew that no amount of pretty words was ever going to fix this. That, he was sure of.

* * *

Ignoring the thoroughly startled forms of Thorin and Dwalin, who had both taken steps back away from the young woman the moment she collapsed, the furry-hatted Dwarf immediately took action. Carefully squeezing past the burly Dwarf (who would have backed right into him if Bofur hadn't stepped back himself), he knelt before the weeping woman, who had since pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her head in her hands. He hesitated to touch her, afraid that he would startle her and cause a reaction that could ultimately injure her or himself. Yet, he felt he could not just sit here and do nothing. The poor thing had been through enough as it was.

"Hey now," He cooed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hey now, don' cry. Oh, please don' cry Lass. It's alrigh'. No one here's gonna hurt ya."

Here he glanced behind him and sent the room a scolding expression, as if daring anyone to disagree with him. Normally Bofur was not the kind of Dwarf to make such decisions or take any form of leadership however, a frightened and very confused woman sat before them crying her eyes out in terror. And he was not the kind of Dwarf who just stood by and did nothing when someone was scared or threatened. He wasn't a very brave Dwarf, but he was not without compassion and some form of understanding. He was surprised when no one interjected (especially Thorin, who was still looking at the young woman with unadulterated surprise and confusion), yet grateful that no one objected to him handling the situation. Even Gandalf, who had since stowed away his pipe the moment they had made their entrance, now standing, stood back to observe. Curiosity clear in his gray eyes, yet caution not far beneath them. He seemed content to just watch for the time being.

Giving the Dwarves (who each wore varying expressions ranging from surprise, confusion, caution, and incredulous) another sweeping look to ensure no one would try to approach the clearly emotional woman, Bofur turned his head back to her and tried again to coax her out.

"See Lass?" Again he kept his voice gentle and soothing, speaking with careful tones. "No one means ya any harm. We just want ta talk ta ya is all."

For several moments the woman, still curled up with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head bent over in her hands, did not respond. Yet, slowly, her muffled sobs began to fade and her shoulders stopped shaking. Bofur heard her take a slow, yet shaky breath before removing her hands from her face. Again she took another deep, shaky breath but instead of tentatively raising her head to speak to him like he imagined, her short curly head came up so fast he leaned backwards in mild surprise. Her pale blue eyes were alight with a fire he had never seen before and they pinned him down almost instantly. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. The fashion in which she gazed at him reminded him of how his mother would look when he was a young Dwarf and he had done something he should not have. In a strange sort of way they almost resembled Thorin's, only her's were aquamarine in hue while his resembled a deep sapphire.

"Talk?" She spat in a low, angry tone. Oh no, she did not yell or scream. It would have been better if she had. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Bofur could _feel_ the anger bubbling just under the surface. "Talk? If talking is all you wanted then why did _he_," Now her voice was slowly raising and she extended a pale arm in Thorin's direction, who's eyes snapped immediately to her at being addressed. "Put a knife to my throat?! If all you wanted was to talk, then why did you chase me?! What the hell is _wrong_ with all of you?!"

She suddenly sprung to her feet so fast, Bofur had to scoot back a ways to avoid colliding with her. Then, he too, rose to his feet, his hands held out before him in a placating manner.

"Lass, wait a moment. Calm yerself before ya hurt-"

"Shut it!" She snapped, turning her fierce gaze back towards him and silencing him quicker than he thought Thorin ever could. She then turned her eyes to Thorin, who was now standing beside Bofur, and narrowed her pale fiery orbs.

"As for you," She began slowly, crossing her arms in a similar fashion as the Dwarf king and standing just a little straighter. "If you want to talk, then you can talk to me like a normal person. I don't respond to men who demand. If that's what you're looking for, then find yourself a _dog_."

**Well now, there you have it. Cate's temper. Though I will tell you she doesn't lose it very often. In fact, Cate rarely ever gets angry. Frustrated yes. Irritated yes. Angry? No. She's a lot like Bofur in that area. She just goes with the flow. That is, except when she gets dragged into a different world, has someone try to kill her, has a bunch of men chasing her, gets discovered by one hell of a scary Dwarf (Dwalin), and then is chased again.**

**Remember, she's been through the ringer. She's scared and frightened and yes, she's a ticking time bomb. This is just a product of that. Now, she's angry. And she can be scary when she's angry. As Thorin and the rest of the Company are about to find out. And if anyone thinks she's being out of character by crying . . . well, wouldn't you? If someone like Dwalin is chasing you and you end up having to face Thorin getting all up in your personal space and looking you over like a leech, wouldn't you? Not to mention Thorin was the one who held a knife to you're throat in the first place. **

**Yeah, no offense, but I would cry too. This is all just too much for her and she can't take any more.**

**Please leave me a review in the box below and I'll have chapter elven out soon. Then we'll get to the heart of the matter. The Quest to Erebor!**


	12. This is a Dream

**I'm back. Sort of. These chapters are going to come slowly, but I couldn't resist writing this little tid-bit.**

**Chapter Twelve  
**

**This is a Dream  
**

All at once, his shock evaporated and any sympathy he felt for the woman nearly vanished entirely. Despite the previous fear and terror she emitted moments before, Thorin felt the intense need to defend himself rise up. Never before had anyone spoke to him in such a manner and it was not something, woman or not, he was going to allow. He could feel that the woman was not going to be the least bit cooperative and was already quickly becoming a handful. Especially seeing as she led his men on a merry chase through the hobbit's home and managed to make herself unseen for the better part of half an hour. Thorin felt his nose tingle at the memory of her foot colliding with his face, which caused him to want to rub the feeling away with his hand but resisted the urge to do so. This woman had done enough damage by dropping onto the table and putting all their plans on sidetrack, he was not going to allow her to cause any more.

"You will do well," He rumbled slowly, keeping his arms crossed and eying the curly redhead carefully. "To watch your tongue."

However this only seemed to anger her more and her expression darkened, her light blue eyes sparking with rage. "I don't think you're the one to be making requests here."

Thorin couldn't help but scoff at the remark and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I believe, neither are you."

Here the young woman opened her mouth to retort but she stopped halfway when she caught sight of several of his men. Fili and Kili, he could tell, had both risen from their spots on the floor and came to stand behind him, yet kept their distance as to wait for his command. Nori sat up from his place in the farthest corner of the room, yet made no move to rise from his chair. Oin and Gloin stood stiffly at the very back of the room, but, like Nori, chose to observe rather than come much closer. Bofur, who stood at Thorin's immediate left, shifted his gaze worriedly to his brother and cousin, both of which were previously conversing with Gandalf, who still sat in the corner between the kitchen and the parlor.

Dori and Ori had been sitting at the table just under the rather large window that overlooked the garden, but now the older Dwarf had risen to his feet and planted himself firmly in front of his brother, shielding the youngest from view. Balin, who had been conversing with Gloin over some financial business, went wide and came to a halt just inside of Thorin's line of vision. Thorin guessed the reason the elder Dwarf had done this was to remind him to keep his temper in check. Not to mention the fact that the elder could now signal the Dwarf king if he in fact went too far. Dwalin still remained directly behind the woman, who paled slightly at the sight of the number of Dwarves she could see, then steeled herself and directed her attention back to Thorin.

"You're nothing but a coward." She spat, glowering at him through narrowed eyes. Despite her threat, Thorin noticed that her fingers tightened slightly on the sleeves of her coat, thus proving that his presence unnerved her to some degree. "Hiding behind them and using them like shields."

He felt his blood begin to boil at the accusation. No one had ever called him a coward. How she could change so suddenly was unfathomable to him. One moment she was completely terrified and shaken and then the next, here she was, standing nearly toe to toe with him with fire in her eyes. Yet, despite her courage (for indeed the young woman possessed some level of bravery), she was not in the position to be making threats, nor did he have any intention of allowing the blatant insult go without scolding. The room seemed to echo his thoughts because Thorin heard Gloin grumble something unintelligibly under his breath from behind. No doubt his older brother agreed with whatever the comment entitled.

"I am no coward." He growled, still keeping his voice low and as non-threatening as he could manage, stepping closer to her. Yet, he was no fool and kept a fair amount of distant between them. Roughly a three foot girth. "You have nothing to gain by threatening us, so I suggest you cooperate. I will ask you again, who are you?"

The woman, who's gaze flickered from him to several of the others before coming back to him, seemed to be slowly losing her nerve as she took in just how outnumbered she really was. But before any further progress could be made, someone who Thorin was quite tired of interfering, interfered.

"I believe that is quite enough, Thorin Oakenshield."

* * *

At the sound of a far different tone of voice (which resembled that of someone who smoked often), Cate's head jerked to her immediate right in search for the speaker. There, nestled in the corner of the room (and dressed in a rather strange fashion that reminded her of the Renaissance Period) was a tall, elderly man with a long gray beard and equally long hair that was just as gray as the beard. He was dressed in simple, faded gray robes (which were stained near the bottom from what had to have been from many travels) and possessed a rather comfortable looking scarf that was draped loosely around his neck. One end was thrown casually over his left shoulder while the other tail hung down his front. The scarf was of equal color of that of his robes. In fact, everything about the man was gray. Even his eyes!

Cate's own blue eyes widen at the sight of him. Even sitting down he looked rather tall and the way he spoke! It reminded her of the way her grandfather sounded when he was feeling worn out with the antics of his two grandchildren. Abby and herself were not always the most quietest nor easiest children to watch over when they were young.

"Now," The man began, rising to his feet and nearly avoiding hitting his head on a beam that lay directly over him. He spared the beam a withering glance before moving out into the room where he had the room to stand freely without colliding with the ceiling. Clasping his hands in front of him in a rather business like manner, he gave a small dip of his head to her before continuing.

"Seeing as a certain Dwarf," Here he paused to send the dark-haired man (?), who she had been previously having a stare down with, a rather reproachful look. "has forgotten his manners, may I ask, dear lady, who might you be?"

"Ah . ." Cate suddenly found that her voice was not working properly. She swallowed and opened her mouth to try again but nothing came forth. After several attempts to try and communicate, and while staring at the floor, she finally managed, though in a rather small and unsure voice, "Just where in the bloody hell am I?"

The man must have hear her because he gave a rather deep, yet not unkind chuckle. "I see. Where do you _think_ you are, if I may ask?"

Cate thought this question was rather odd. Lifting her head so she could meet his eyes, she found that this time she had no issues with finding her voice.

"I don't know really. I assume this is some dream my mind came up with because I'm tired and stressed." She paused and rubbed her chin thoughtfully, turning about so as to stare deep into the fireplace she just took notice of. Thinking for a moment or two, she suddenly snapped her fingers (which cause several of the rather short men around her to jump), turned about so she was facing the strange gray clad man, and said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I know! It's the coffee! This is all the byproduct of a coffee induced dream." The she muttered under her breath with the utmost seriousness, "I should have known."

"I think she's lost it." Came a whispered voice just a few feet behind the dark-haired man (who was still looking at her with a rather dubious expression).

Cate however, whose ears were rather sharp (if only because living with her sister for roughly nineteen years was a natural hazard) caught wind of the comment and turned about to see one of the strange men (who possessed equally as dark hair was the one who tried to knife her) leaning in towards another who resembled a humanized lion.

"I heard that!" She snapped, though not really offended by the comment to her sanity. "And you'll have to be specific, I've lost a lot of things."

She smiled a little smugly as she noted the expressions of confusion that crossed both of the young men's faces. They looked at the other for a split second, then turned back to her, and then looked back at each other. Cate couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

"I'm only messing with you!" She chuckled, waving a hand in their direction before turning back to the gray man. "I suppose it doesn't really matter any more. This is all a dream anyway so I may as well go with it." She extended a hand toward the older man to take and said with a wide smile, "Catelynn Jocelyn Martin. Pleased to meet you. Though, the circumstances are rather questionable aren't they?"

The man simply smiled back, though she could tell by the slight flicker of his eyes that he too, was quite possibly questioning her sanity. "Indeed they are Miss Martin. Would you care to sit down?" He asked, gesturing to the armchair she had previously used to get back on her feet after her rather sudden entrance.

"That does sound nice," Cate voiced thoughtfully, but then added, "You're not planning on tying me up or anything are you? Cause I don't fancy being tied up at the moment."

She noted that out of the corner of her eyes, several of the men gave each other wild bewildered looks. Some of them even eyed her with extreme weariness. Cate ignored them.

"Oh no," The gray man said gravely, shaking his head in a slow manner. "No, my friends," Here he gestured to the large group. "And I wouldn't dream of it. Please, sit down Miss Martin. I believe we have much to discuss."

Cate plopped herself down in the rather small, yet comfortable armchair and was pleasantly surprised to find that, not only did her feet touch the ground, but that her knees were bent quite a bit.

"Say! This is great! I'm sitting in a chair that fits me for once! Excellent!" Grinning wildly, she folded her hands in front of her, crossed her ankles, and waited promptly for the gray man to continue.

She was met with several seriously disturbed looks.

"What?" She looked about, thoroughly and honestly confused. "Did I say something wrong? It's not everyday I sit in a chair that lets my feet touch the floor you know. I'm rather short you see."

"Obviously." Said one of the men from the back, his voice clipped.

Cate frowned. "Now, you don't have to say it like that! It's not a very common thing you know, finding something that fits. Not my fault I'm short." She crossed her arms, looking a bit crossed.

The gray man eyed the man at the back for a long time before he turned his attention to the dark-haired man who was looking as if he'd like nothing better than to throw the young woman out of the house.

"I believe it would be best if I speak to the young lady alone." The gray man said, giving the dark-haired man a stern look. "We don't need to repeat the events of the past forty-five minutes do we?

The dark-haired man glared at the gray man for a moment before sparing a brief glance at Cate. She simply smiled at him. He frowned in response, then turned to the rest of the room.

"You heard the wizard." He barked sharply, clearly not at all pleased with the turn of events. "Out!"

There was a mad rush for the exists, most leaving by the closest route available. Though one particularly large man (who was sporting a kind of Friar Tuck hairdo seeing as the very top of his head was bald while the rest of his head was covered by vibrant orange hair) hobbled his way to the kitchen that Cate noted was just behind her.

Glancing about at the now empty room, she sighed sadly with the shake of her head. "Not very friendly are they?"

**Okay, I'm guessing you're all thinking the same thing? WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!**

**Well my friends, Cate has decided that the best way to cope with all this is to believe it is all a dream. Of course, next chapter she's going to get a big reality check and is going to have to accept the truth. Which, at this point, she's not exactly ready for. Cate's wild change (she's having quite a few of those isn't she?) is just her way of coping for the time being. No worries, she won't remain loopy forever. The inspiration for this part of Cate was from Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter. I find her character rather neat and very interesting.**

**I guess you could call this part of Cate, Crazy Crack Cate or something along those lines. I know, but I found this rather funny. Now all we need is for Gandalf to offer her a biscuit! **

**And (and I know I'm going to get asked this question) as to why Cate did not connect the dots between Gandalf mentioning Thorin's name and Thorin calling Gandalf 'wizard'? Cate is still sort of out of it. She's not really in any state of mind to start rationalizing things yet. This will all come together next chapter when Gandalf has his heart to heart with her. Cate's shell-shocked right now. I remember explaining this to my readers before, this story is realistic. Or as realistic as falling into ME gets. Cate's not going to go . . . **

**"Holy shit Batman! You're Gandalf! Or Holy Moley! You're Thorin Oakenshield!"**

**She honestly thinks she's dreaming at this point. Or really losing her sanity. Like I said, Cate will come to terms with the reality next chapter. More or less, Gandalf will have to force her to see reason. And she's not going to like it.  
**

**I don't know when I'll update next, but hopefully this will hold you over. I'm stilling finishing other projects. Won't be too much longer now!**


	13. A Chat with a Wizard

**Hello all you lovely people! I have returned once again with a new chapter. We get to peep in on our hobbit and see where he's been through all this. Poor guy. Bilbo's not having a good night, now is he? No Dwarves I'm afraid in this chapter, but we get to hear them. This chapter is mostly Cate and Gandalf, with a side of Bilbo thrown in. Next chapter we'll get more Dwarvish action and hopefully get more of this confusion sorted out. Onward my friends!**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**A Chat with a Wizard  
**

He was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up passed his elbows, and forearm deep in soapy water, scrubbing away at one of his prized yellow dishes when he heard the unmistakable sound of Dwarven feet marching out of his parlor. And judging by the many, rather harsh and none-to-gently footfalls, he could only conclude that not a one of them were pleased. Bilbo paused in his task for a moment, listening with some small level of curiosity as the Dwarves filed back into his dining room. However, at the memory of their outrageous and quite stressful behavior (especially on Thorin's part), the hobbit gave a soft growl of frustration and scowled angrily down into the depths of his sink. They were not worth all this trouble.

"What do you suppose Master Gandalf wants to speak to her about?"

Bilbo, who had finished drying his little yellow dish and had set it to the side to put away later, had picked up a nice brick red one and was just about to dunk it under the tap when one of the Dwarves spoke. He was not expecting the voice, nor was he expecting the news that Gandalf was holding secret meetings in his parlor. In response, the plate slipped from his grasp and nearly hit the floor when the poor hobbit's reflexes finally caught up with him. His curly foot kicked upwards, colliding with the plate and sending it upwards where Bilbo promptly caught it. He sighed heavily at the near loss of his dish and was about to march back into the dining room (a rather good tongue lashing on the tip of his tongue) when another Dwarf spoke.

"Hmph! The Wizard's motives are less concerning." The voice, the hobbit found, resembled the rough rumbling of Gloin. "I, for one, am far more interested in what her purpose is for being here in the first place. And even more importantly, who sent her."

Bilbo stopped in mid-step, now fully curious about the direction of the conversation. Without fully aware of himself, he carefully set his unwashed dish down into the murky water of his sink and silently made his way towards the kitchen's entrance to the dining room. His Tookish streak had once again won over and if he was going to discover the nature of the Dwarves new source of displeasure, he was sure this was the only way to do it. Once he was as close to the entrance without being seen, Bilbo took a slow, deep breath and prayed that the Dwarves wouldn't feel the need to come back into the kitchen. Bombur, a rather large Dwarf, had already paid a short visit just a while ago.

"Is she dangerous?" Asked a rather small, uneasy voice. Ori, it sounded like. The one who claimed had no fear of whatever may befall the Company whilst out in the Wilds of the world.

"But off course she is!" Scolded another Dwarf and Bilbo guessed it was one of his brothers. The elder one with the intricate head design and a fondness for red wine and camomile tea. What was his name? Nori? "Did you hear her in there? Completely off her rocker, I'd say."

"She smiled too much," Added another suspiciously. "And she thinks she's dreaming."

"The lass clearly doesn't know where she is." This voice, Bilbo was sure, belonged to Bofur. He sounded a bit cross. "She's lost."

"Lost?" This time it was Balin's who spoke next, his voice taking on a rather incredulous sound. "Well that's apparent, lad. I don't believe she's fully aware of the gravity of her situation. We know next to nothing about her; even the name she gave us could be false. I suggest we allow the Wizard to handle her. He is least likely to be fooled by any tricks she may pull in order to discover our plans for retaking the mountain."

Immediately, Bilbo heard the sound of chairs being pushed back (rather roughly he might add) and he visibly winced as he thought of the scuff marks that would undoubtedly be left upon his poor floor. Not to mention the damage done to the bottom of the chair legs themselves. Several of the dwarves began shouting at the top of their lungs in protest to Balin's comment about being easily fooled. The hobbit rolled his eyes in annoyance. One would never know by looking at one of them, but it would seem that Dwarves were very sensitive. Especially when it came to their intelligence and pride.

As the Dwarves argued, the poor hobbit pondered on just who it was they were arguing over. Suddenly he remembered the stranger who had fallen from his ceiling. How Bilbo had forgotten about the newest addition he had no idea. Perhaps it was in the mist of all the cleaning he had been doing for the passed forty-five minutes (originally he had fled to the safety of the room because he had no desire of running into the stranger and, of course, the Dwarves had left quite a mess in their wake and Bilbo was quick to realize that he would receive no help from his guests. Not that he truly expected it).

The nature in which his guests discussed the stranger was not at all in the least bit comforting. For one, the stranger was in fact, a female. Ordinarily, this fact would not bother him however, Bilbo wasn't sure of the kind of folk this Quest attracted. So far, and judging by the Dwarves alone, this Quest was drawing some very questionable sort of company. Not to mention that, apparently, to quote Dori, the woman was 'off her rocker'. Bilbo did not like the sound of that one bit. He had enough to worry about what with thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard running amuck in his home. Now he had another unwelcome guest and one that was deemed by the others (not that this was saying much in Bilbo's opinion) as less than firmly planted in reality.

Bilbo flopped back against his dish cabinet, his back taking the brunt of his weight, and heaved a great sigh of defeat. Wonderful. A bloody, barmy woman in his nice, neat hobbit-hole. Or, what had previously been a nice, neat hobbit-hole. All he want was to be left in peace! How could he go from being just a simple hobbit to a hobbit hosting Dwarves, Wizards, and barmy women in just one night? Perhaps it was he who was doing the dreaming.

"On a different note, what has become of our Burglar?"

"MASTER BAGGINS?!"

* * *

"Soooo," The young woman drawled as she watched the last Dwarf leave the parlor before turning back to the Grey Pilgrim and looking rather sheepish. "Um, I suppose I should start at the beginning. Right?"

"That," He began gently, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Would be, shall we say, a start?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Why is it that no matter what I do, even if it's simply reading a book, I manage to screw everything up?"

Nevertheless confused by her words, Gandalf simply crossed over to the spare armchair directly across from the young woman and made himself comfortable. No doubt he deemed this would take some time to sort out.

"Please, you may begin whenever you feel ready." He reached once again into his robes for his small clay pipe. "While my friends have forsaken their manners, please, rest assure, that I have not. Do not allow them to intimidate you. Despite their outward appearance and blatant talent for bluntness, they are quite an honorable sort."

"Honorable." The woman scoffed, jerking her head towards the fireplace and narrowing her eyes at it as if it had done some sort of injustice to her. "That one guy seemed far from it."

He paused just as he was about to lite the pipe with the snap of his fingers. He peered over at her with a rather intrigued expression. "Do not mind him at the present moment. For now, you are the main concern. However, if it will put you at further ease, I shall ask you a question and you, when you are ready, will answer it."

The woman frowned for a moment, still staring into the fire. Then, after a moment of contemplation, met his eyes with a slight nod of her curly head. "Fair enough, I suppose. But," she pause, as if unsure whether to voice her thought.

The Wizard simply offered her a gentle smile. "Yes, my dear?"

"Well," She glanced downward and preceded to twist the hem of her coat in her hands. She appeared quite uncertain about voicing whatever suggestion she had in mind. "To make it completely fair, you ask a question, I answer it, and then I . . ask a question?"

He leaned all the way back in his seat, giving the young woman a long, contemplating look. She most certainly was beginning to feel nervous about being alone with him. He could tell by the way she kept her body close together and also noted that she kept glancing over his shoulder through the doorway which led into the entrance hall behind him. The very direction in which the front door lay, not that she was aware of that. Despite her nervous, and somewhat questionable, behavior, Gandalf knew that unless they made progress diplomatically, they would discover nothing about who she was or where she came from. Or even if she was sent here for the sole purpose of derailing the Quest.

"I believe that is a fair suggestion." The Istari agreed, nodding his gray head in approval. "However, would you allow me the curtsey of going first?"

"Oh! Of course!" Immediately she pulled her hands away from her coat and began to wave them in a rather placating manner. "Sure, go right ahead. Ask away." She stopped waving her hands and folded them neatly in her lap. Then she added sheepishly as an afterthought, "Sir."

Gandalf eyed her curiously. She was apparently someone who spoke with their hands. Not that she used them to convey messages (though he did not entirely dismiss the possibility), but rather her hands moved while she spoke. A rather interesting habit he had seen in very few people. Though it also could be a sign of nervousness and, quite possibly, one of guilt, despite the fact she was offering little to no resistance in cooperating. She appeared to be very complacent when she was not being threatened.

"Very well then," He began, snapping his fingers and causing a tiny flame to flicker to life at the end of his fingertips. "Where exactly do you hail from, my dear?""

He promptly lit his pipe and took a small drawl before blowing a small green ring, which then drifted toward the ceiling. He did not miss the rather astonished expression that spread across the woman's face as she watched the little green ring float upwards. However, once the ring changed from green to red, her mouth fell open in blatant shock and her eyes, which had not noticed anything else but the little ring, widened a fraction more as she watched it bounce along directly above their heads.

"How did you-" But she suddenly cut herself off and shook her head to regain her concentration. She promptly shut her mouth and lowered her head back to eye level. "Sorry, what about your question?"

Gandalf was rather impressed. Normally, when dealing with those unfamiliar with him and his talents, he would have been bombarded with questions and inquiries about how he was able to light a flame with his fingers or how to make a smoke ring change color. And while the young woman had been distracted, she had recovered herself and drew the attention away from his magic and back onto the topic at hand. If she had something to hide, surely she would have relished in any way possible to avoid his questioning? And yet, she had not done so. She was a rather intriguing creature to say the least.

"I believe," He smiled, leaning backwards and blowing out another ring. This one bright blue. "You have already answered it, my dear."

The woman's eyebrows furrowed once more, clearly not understanding. "I'm sorry? I have?"

"Quite so." The Wizard replied calmly, looking up at the ceiling and taking no notice of her confusion. She may not have answered the question he asked, but she had answered one he had been pondering. Her honesty. She had had the opportunity to sidetrack him, not that it would have worked, yet she had not acted on it. "Therefore, if I'm correct, it is now your turn Miss Martin."

She continued to look at him with a strange sort of expression, yet realized it would be best to just accept that she had, indeed, answered a question. She took a quick, deep breath and closed her eyes for just a moment. No doubt she was attempting to regain her bearings so as to decide on the appropriate first question. After a moment of contemplation, the young woman opened her eyes and steeled her expression to one of absolute seriousness.

"Well, for starters," The young woman began, pausing so as to gesture about the room. "You still haven't told me where I am. I would like to go home, if that's alright with you." Then she added just to clarify, waving her hand in a circular motion. "What is this place, exactly?"

Despite her asking for permission to leave, the Wizard had the distinct feeling that it was just a formality. She intended to return to wherever she had come from whether he granted her leave or not. And now that they had come to the topic of where she belonged, Gandalf was certain it was nowhere in Middle-earth he had visited. This was proven so when he inspected her dress more closely. The material used was nothing that resembled any culture here in Arda, even as far as the East was concerned or even the deep South which few traveled. Only those native to those areas resided there and they rarely ever left. Nor did they trade _officially_ with the realms of Gondor or Rohan (this of course did not mean such trading did not exist).

Her speech was also strange and unfamiliar, her accent was one he did not recognize. The terms she used were improper (not that they were rude, rather they were used loosely and in a familiar fashion) and unknown to him. She kept glancing about her as if her surrounding confused her. Even the way she held herself was strange. No, Gandalf was fairly certain that the young woman was not native to Arda. Which begged the question, where had she come from? And more importantly, why?

"Miss Martin," The Istari began cautiously, eying her carefully and hoping that her reaction would not take as a negative turn has it had before. "Currently, at this moment, you are in Bag End, the home of one Bilbo Baggins (a rather charming fellow if I may add). This house resides On the Hill, in the quaint little village of Hobbiton, which sits almost in the exact middle of the Shire, to which resides in the Western most region known as Eriador, which is apart of this current world of Arda. However, it is better known in the Common Tongue as, the realm of Middle-earth."

* * *

"Eh, do-what-now?" Cate blinked owlishly, her expression blank and unreadable. She must not have heard the man correctly. This was becoming a very strange dream indeed. She chuckled nervously and her eyes flitted from right in left in rapid succession, taking note of the exist just behind him and the one just behind her chair. This guy was joking. Right? That's it, no more coffee after six pm. It was having negative effects on her. And causing strange dreams.

The elderly gentleman simply looked at her calmly, his pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. They sat there, just for a moment, gazing at each other before he sighed heavily and removed his pipe entirely from his mouth. "My dear, it would appear that you have fallen, quite literally, into a world not of your own. Where exactly, if you can remember, are you from?"

Immediately, and with no hesitation, she answered, "Salt Lake City, Utah."

She instantly regretted telling him this. She had done it again! If she didn't stop giving out her personal information, especially to some old man who was capable of lighting pipes with the snap of his fingers and changing the colors of smoke rings, she was going to end up dead. But wait, if this was a dream, then she had nothing to worry about. Right? What were they going to do anyway? They couldn't keep her here and one couldn't really be hurt in a dream. So what did it matter if they knew her name and where she lived? It was all in her head anyway. However, Cate did feel that perhaps she had reached the point in her life where coffee was going to really cause problems. She should go back to tea leaves.

"Such a place does not exist in this world," The old man replied, bringing Cate out of her inner thoughts and back to reality.

Or at least, some strange definition of the word. After all, what kind of reality didn't have electricity? She had seen no sign of lights in the place except for lots of candles and a few kerosene lamps. In fact, what little of the house she had seen (despite its unique design) resembled something out of the Victorian Era. When she had passed the kitchen, she didn't recall seeing a fridge. An old fashion icebox yes, but no refrigerator. Wait, what was that about not being able to be hurt in a dream? If that was true, then why had she felt pain when she fell out of that barrel? When she tripped over the baseboard and landed on her face? That had hurt. And what about when that guy had pressed a knife to her throat and held her down? She had _felt_ that.

"Heh, heh," Cate chuckled again out of nervousness. This was becoming awkward. Fast. "Where did you say I was again?"

The man suddenly looked rather exasperated, He closed his gray eyes once more and his wrinkled face seemed to twitch sporadically as he heaved a long, deep sigh. Not answering her, he shoved his small clay pipe back into the corner of his mouth and gave several large puffs, causing about six or so puffs of smoke to rise up and join the two smoke rings (which were now shifting between the colors green and red) on the ceiling. They, unlike the rings (which sort of just hovered in place), began to form a circle right underneath the color changing rings and slowly began to rotate counterclockwise.

If the atmosphere before was tense, this was nothing in comparison. Cate felt she could try to cut the air with a knife and not so make as much of a scratch. Her lack of attention to the man's attempts to explain things to her was clearly not helping matters.

"Wherever you have come from, you are no longer." Stated the gray man, his tone firm and unyielding. He opened his eyes once more and pierced her with a steely gaze. Cate had the distinct impression that his patience had finally run out with her. "However, the question remains as to _why_ you are here."

"But _where_ is _here_?!" She exclaimed desperately, rising from her chair and gesturing wildly about the room. She wanted a _real_ answer. And something deep within her was slowly, but surely, beginning to feel that this wasn't what she thought it was. Things weren't adding up. Little things like why she could feel pain. If this was a dream she shouldn't be able to. Right? Wasn't that like a standard rule with dreams? "Stop speaking in riddles and just tell me where the hell I am!"

"My dear girl!" The gray man stood abruptly, his gray robes billowing around him in some unseen wind. His eyes flashed dangerously and a strange fire of sorts danced behind those gray, steel-like orbs. Several of the candles that had been scattered about the room were suddenly extinguished, purging the space in a sort of half-darkness. Startled and suddenly terrified of the being before her, Cate stumbled backwards in her haste to put as much distance between her and the old man (if that indeed, was what he was). Unfortunately, she lost her footing and fell promptly, if not conveniently, back into the armchair she had previously occupied.

She pressed herself as far back in the chair as possible, her heart hammering against the inside of her chest as if trying to break free. Her blood roared in her ears like the sound of waves crashing against rock. Her body curled in on itself in the attempt to make herself as small as possible, trembling violently as she did so. At some point (Cate was not sure when), her eyes had shut tight in fear and she found her face buried deep within the fabric of the chair's armrest. She was so scared that she could not move except to shake in fear of this being. Her mind had gone absolutely blank and her brain must have shut down because not a single thought passed through her. She could not move! Her body was completely and utterly frozen! If the man who had threatened her life before was terrifying, this was a hundred times worse.

She had been pinned, threatened, chased, interrogated, and now Cate could add being shouted at to the list. What was it about today that hated her so much? Why was she here? _Where_ was here? Confused wasn't even half of what she was feeling right now. And, again, she felt the urge to cry.

"Miss Martin?" The voice, which was undoubtedly the old man's, was quiet and soft again and Cate suddenly felt the all too familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder. Still, however, she did not raise her head from the safety of the armrest. She just wanted to be left alone. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare, for what else could it be? "Miss Martin, please. I apologize. I should not have lost my temper with you. That was incredibly rude and inconsiderate of me."

Cate wanted to raise her head high and tell him, yes it was very rude and inconsiderate! She wasn't in the mood to be yelled at simply because she didn't understand her surroundings. In fact, she didn't understand anything at all! The who, the why, the what, the where! None of it! Nothing she was seeing or experiencing was sinking in! She didn't deserve to be scolded just for her lack of understanding! It wasn't her fault! She didn't ask for this! Heck, she didn't _want_ any of this! She had enough problems with her normal life and now she had – whatever this was – on her plate of things to deal with!

"Just go away!" She attempted to shout, however, due to the fact her face was still buried in the fabric of the chair, it didn't quite come off as intimidating as she had hoped. In fact, it sounded down right pitiful. "And leave me alone!"

She heard the man sigh. This was going to be a long night.

**Okay, so maybe this chapter was a bit too slow. No worries, all will be well. Cate's still not fully comprehending where she is. And yes, even though she heard Gandalf's explanation of Middle-earth, it more or less went over her head. She just doesn't see it. Next chapter she's going to be forced to see the truth and then Thorin and Co have to find a way to deal with her while also learning she's not a direct threat to them. Gandalf will help them see to that. I'm sorry this chapter didn't really solve anything, hopefully I can pull this whole thing off next time so we can get to the story, but remember, this is a full length tale. Maybe things seem slow now, but slow build up is important to the story and how the characters work.**

**Cate is a character with real personality and is, essentially, a person. Not just a character. BOND with her! **

**But yes, I do agree that maybe this one was a bit slow. All will be well next time. I'll try to speed things up just a hair. Next time, the DWARVES! And more Bilbo too! Hurray! Thank you all so much and please leave me a nice review in the box below! See you all soon!**


	14. Everyone Comes to an Understanding

**I know, I know. I've been gone for a very long time, but I HAVE RETURNED! Not to much to say on this one, but what the title suggests. Next chapter I hope to finally get things rolling. Hopefully. I know I've spent WAY too much time on build up, it's time to get down to it. I hope to work that out next chapter. No Dwarves here sad to say, but we have our favorite hobbit and he decides to brave the new stranger. What will he make of her I wonder. We shall see.**

**Chapter Fourteen**

** In Which Everyone Comes to an Understanding (sort of)**

The Istari sighed heavily as he watched the poor creature tremble in fear with her head still buried deep within the chair's armrest, her arms wrapped about her curly head as if to shield herself from being struck. The old wizard's eyes grew painfully sad and his raised one of his hands so as to allow it to pass over the features of his tired face. When the appendage ghosted over the bridge of his long nose, he stopped and gave it a sharp pinch in slight self-frustration. He offered the young woman in the chair a sad, apologetic look (though she did not see it) as another sigh left him. Then, he carefully maneuvered his away around the armchair and silently took his leave of the room, thus obeying the young woman's wishes.

As he made his way into the kitchen, it became clear to Gandalf that the poor creature was not yet ready to accept her abrupt change in environment. Whoever she was and wherever she came from (he did not quite understand her explanation, if it could be called as such), it was not from Arda. Also, it appeared, from what he had been able to gather thus far, that she had no previous intention of falling (quite literally) into the meeting. The secrecy of the Quest was still intact, though they had a minor change in development on their hands. Gandalf could find no lie in her eyes when he spoke with her, only severe confusion and a great deal of fear. He would even go so far as to say that the woman had yet to even notice the mission at all. Clearly, she had no idea whatsoever as to what was occurring at the present moment.

Gandalf paused in front of the kitchen sink, taking note of half-finished tableware and the absence of a certain hobbit. He sighed deeply yet again and the troubled feeling he was beginning to acquire grew a size more. However, through all the mist and confusion, the wizard was able to understand this much: the woman simply could not stay within this world. She must be returned to where she belonged yet, how to go about accomplishing such a feat was beyond the Gray Pilgrim's knowledge. Magic he possessed but, this was not something the Valar had prepared him for when he was sent across the sea to aid in Arda's protection. He no more knew how to send the woman back than he knew how to bring forth such a person.

The poor wizard gave a gruff 'harrumph' of frustration and frowned heavily at the dirty dishwater. He stood there for a moment or two before nodding sharply to himself and, turning on his heel, headed straight for the dinning room. Thorin was not going to be pleased in the slightest; yet, Gandalf found he had not the urge, or desire, to care.

* * *

He tilted his curly head this way and that, squinting hard at the fine printed ink in which he was suppose to be reading. Unfortunately, this only left the poor creature even more baffled and confused. How was he suppose to comprehend as to the true nature of what he was meant to be agreeing to, if he could not make out the blasted lettering?! A good percentage of the wording was so small in places, which in his opinion looked to be added as several afterthoughts, that he could barely read it. Not even with his careful and sharp eyesight could Bilbo understand all that was mentioned within the document's many folds. And the length! Good gracious! Was it necessary to have so many clauses and subclauses?! It was nearly as long as he was tall!

And they expected him to agree to terms that he could not read?! For all he knew, there were terms and agreements hidden away that could quite possibly bind him to their service for all eternity! Or, quite possibly, a fate even worse. Oh, how his poor father would be turning over in his grave if he was to see his son dealing with dodgy characters such as these?! Arda knows what sort of trouble lay before him if he put his inked signature upon the thick parchment. How ashamed his father would be of him, not knowing the exact details of such a binding contract?!

"Well, Master Baggins?" A voice prompted expectantly, though it's tone was not unkind.

Bilbo, severely startled by the sudden sound of someone speaking, literally jumped and fumbled with the heavy document so violently that he nearly torn it in two. His head came up sharply from the parchment in which his nose had been so deeply buried and glanced about in frightened alarm to see who had spoken. It was none other than Balin, an elderly Dwarf with a pure white forked beard and clad in a garb of red and black. He and the strangely hatted Dwarf, Bofur, had switched places when they had come back into the dining room to discuss whatever it was that they had hoped to accomplish. Which, at the present moment, consisted of giving the poor hobbit his contract or terms and agreements and his role in this Quest of theirs. Though if the hobbit was going to be honest, and bluntly so, they, in his opinion, were doing a rather cock-up job of it.

This whole mess was looking ever more and more disagreeable by the second.

"I-I . . ." Poor Bilbo shuffled his curly feet nervously and chanced a wary glance in Thorin's direction (who, at the moment, was sitting at the head of the table on Balin's other side with his head bent low, pondering over his map). The Dwarf king did not so much as spare the frazzled creature a single look, however, his back tensed slightly at hearing the hesitation and nervousness in the hobbit's voice. Bilbo inwardly cringed. "T-that is . . ."

Fortunately however, Gandalf, in his rather well-timed fashion, chose to make his appearance.

"Well now, I do hope you're pleased Thorin Oakenshield." The wizard grumbled irritably as he made his way down the small set of steps that led from the kitchen.

The Dwarf in question, along with the rest of the Company, looked up sharply at the Grey Pilgrim as he maneuvered his way about the table, carefully pushing Bilbo aside so as to stand before Thorin, his expression grim. Thorin's own expression quickly turned from pensive to irritation as he shoved his newly acquired map back into the folds of his furred cloak, a scowl rising on his features.

"And what," The dark-haired Dwarf growled low, his voice reverberating in the small space. "Pray tell, is it that I am to supposedly have done?" Yet, before the wizard could answer, Thorin pressed on. "What of the woman? What have you discovered of her?"

Gandalf folded his arms and gazed down at him, his gray eyes alight with severe disapproval. "She is beside herself with confusion and is in a great deal of fear. She is in no condition to be approached by you or any one of your Company at the present moment."

Several of the Dwarves took a moment to shoot concerning glances at one an other, wary of the impending argument that was beginning to grow between the two. It appeared, in their minds, that neither the wizard, nor Thorin, would give in to the other. Instead, it seemed they would continue to butt heads until one or the other was forced to see the others reason.

The dark-haired Dwarf narrowed his dark eyes at the wizard for a moment, then turned his gaze downward, a glimpse of resigned frustration and a hint of guilt in his face. Bilbo's sharp eyes noticed the subtle change in the Dwarf king and surprisingly, he found he couldn't help but feel some small level of pity for him. It did not appear that Thorin went out of his way to frighten the woman, yet he had done so nonetheless. The hobbit was not at all comfortable with yet another unexpected guest in his home yet, if Gandalf's words were true, the poor girl was beside herself. And if it was one thing Bilbo could understand and relate to, it was that the Dwarves were not the most comfortable, nor welcoming, sort to be first introduced to. Thorin especially.

Carefully and silently, the hobbit backed away slowly as Gandalf continued his tale to the group, who all were so deeply immersed in the wizard's findings that they took no notice of him, and managed to slip off into the kitchen unnoticed. He wasn't sure what was possessing him to do this, for all he knew the woman was extremely dangerous in her present state. Yet, his Tookish streak compelled him to see this stranger for himself. Besides, what sort of host would he be if he did not offer the poor woman a proper welcome. She could probably do with a nice cuppa and something to settle her stomach. That was, if there was anything to be had in his poor pantry.

Muscling up as much courage as he was able, Bilbo took one of the few clean mugs he had left and placed it on the small table. He then shuffled about, collecting a clean kettle and filling it fully with fresh water from his kitchen tap. Once that was done, Bilbo hurried over to the fireplace to stir up a good strong blaze that would heat his kettle. With the fire going good and hot, he returned to the kitchen counter, collected his kettle, and placed it on one of the hooks over the flames. Feeling particularly pleased with himself, the hobbit brushed his hands over his trousers and, while the water was set to boil, went over to a cupboard to find the appropriate tin of tea. Finding several that he believed to be calming and refreshing, Bilbo placed the tins on a small tray (along with the mug) and then set about finding a little something for the woman to eat.

This however, proved to be a slightly more difficult challenge as the Dwarves had eaten so much of his stock. Nonetheless, the hobbit was determined to find _something_ for her, despite the fact he was growing in anxiety with every task he completed. This of course led the poor hobbit to wondering about just what he was being dragged into. Him, a burglar? Preposterous! He had never stolen a thing in his entire life! Why would he lower himself to such low standards? For Gold? Wealth? Adventure? Humph! A fat load of good it would do him in the end. Nothing good came of running off into the blue without a word to anyone, especially with such characters as these. No, absolutely not. He was not going to agreed to this crack-pot charade. It was madness!

A sharp whistle suddenly cut through the air, signalling that the water had successfully boiled. Snapping himself out of his rather deep thoughts, Bilbo dashed over to the fireplace and seized a dishcloth before lifting the kettle off the fire. After rearranging the tea tray a bit (which now bore a small pot of hot water along with a small plate of biscuits that he had managed to find), the hobbit drew in a deep breath to settle his nerves before lifting his semi-heavy burden and made his way towards the parlor.

He prayed that the stranger would not be as disagreeable as the rest of his 'guests'; though, at this point, Bilbo did not dare to hope.

* * *

She sighed, sitting before the fireplace and staring deeply into the flames. The tongues of flame danced in hues of gold and orange and a log would pop on occasion, causing the wood to settle further down into the metal bracket that cradled it. Again she sighed, wishing that somehow she could step into the flames and call out her apartment address so that the fireplace could whisk her back home.

_'Humph. If only there was such a thing as Floo Powder.' _She thought bitterly to herself as she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms about them. _'I wonder if Arya and Kyo are alright? Do they know I'm gone? Probably, they must be worried sick. And what about Abby? What if she calls? I won't be there to answer. How long am I going to be here? Can I get home at all? What if I'm trapped here? What will happened to my home? My cats? My sister? My - my book?! How will I ever publish it if I can't get back?!'  
_

Cate allowed her forehead to fall against her knees, hopelessness filling her heart. What could she do? Was what the old man said was true? Was this - God forbid - truly the world of Arda? Was this . . . Middle-earth? But, how could it be? That world was only make-believe. It wasn't truly real except in people's hearts and in their imagination. Was this really a dream? It was looking all the more less and less likely. But, if it was, she would have woken up by now, right? Sure she had dreams of Middle-earth before, what fan of the books didn't? But none of her dreams were like this. They never felt this, this _real_ before!

"What the hell is this?" She whispered desperately to herself, clutching the sleeves of her coat all the more tighter. "I have to get home. Somehow, I have to get back."

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked from off to her left. Cate jerked her head upwards and automatically threw her body to the right, twisting herself around so as to face whatever had entered the room. The young woman blinked, her heart pounding rapidly against her ribs. The figure was not the old man clad in gray robes nor was he the dark-haired man who had held a knife to her throat. In fact, he wasn't any of the men she had seen before. No, this person was vastly different from the others.

He was several inches shorter, about as high as her shoulder, and dressed in a simple, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the elbows. He wore a pair of brown pants that extended down slightly below the knees and pair of suspenders that held them up. He possessed a mop of light brown curly hair which hung snugly about his slightly pointed ears (Cate had to do a double take at that) in a rather neat fashion. Also to her astonishment, the man (of that there was no doubt, despite his slight build and short stature) wore no shoes upon his feet. They were, however, covered with a thick layer of equally dark curly hair. In his hands was a tea tray, laden with a plate of cookies, a mug, several small tins, and a small pot.

He eyed her warily, as if unsure if she would harm him or not, and took a few steps to the side, keeping a safe distance. "E-excuse me, Miss, I don't mean to interrupt, but, that is, I thought perhaps, if you would, enjoy a cuppa tea."

Cate only watched as the little man nodded to the tray in his hands and, when she did not answer him, slowly came forward to set it down on the small side table beside the armchair she had once taken refuge. She blinked at the tray in curiosity. Was he . . actually offering her refreshments? Cate couldn't help but feel somewhat dazed, after all, since ending up in this world, no one had treated her with the slightest bit of normalcy. Instead, the few people she had met either tried to kill her, capture her, trick her, or scream at her. And yet, here was this little man actually being kind and considerate of her, though it appeared her found her somewhat intimidating as he was constantly looking everywhere but directly at her.

It wasn't until the little man took a step back, fiddled nervously with his fingers, and turned abruptly to leave that Cate realized that she hadn't offered him a thank you.

"Wait!" She winced, suddenly aware of how desperate and high pitched she sounded. Not to mention how the poor man actually lost his footing and nearly stumbled into the kitchen. She covered her mouth with one hand and quickly rose to her feet, lunging forward to help him. "I'm so sorry, sir. Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you like that. I really am sorry. Seems like nothing I do today is turning out right. Are you sure you're okay?"

Without waiting for a proper response from him, Cate picked him up from under the arms and set him back on his feet. The little man instantly took a hasty step back and straightened himself in order to look presentable again, looking quite embarrassed as he did so. She flinched, inwardly berating herself at invading his personal space.

"Um, yes." Said the little man, looking even more rumbled and uncomfortable than he had before. He did not met her eyes. "Thank you. Ah, if there is anything else you need, um, please see me."

Cate, feeling the need to make up for her clumsiness (not to mention her sudden desire to not be alone at the moment), racked her brain for some kind of response. "Um," she gazed about her surroundings, looking for something, anything, to start a descent conversation. Then she remembered just how beautiful the actual home she was currently in was. "Is - is this," here she gestured to the room around her. "Your house?"

This time he did look at her. "Oh, ah, yes. Yes it is." He blushed, looking all the more frazzled.

"It's beautiful," Cate replied, glad that he wasn't quite as nervous as he had been a moment before. "I'm sorry I dropped in unannounced an all. I hope I didn't cause much trouble." She suddenly frowned and looked down the entrance way in which the old man had left. "But it seems no matter where I go, trouble finds me anyway."

Strangely enough, it was the last comment that drew the little man's attention.

"Oh, well now, it appears it can't be helped." He said in a rush and . . was that guilt in his eyes? "Why don't you sit down and have a cuppa? I'm sure it'll help somewhat." Here he gestured back towards the fireplace just behind him, turning and making his way further into the room.

Feeling as if he was expecting her to follow, and not wanting to appear rude considering all the fuss she had caused him, Cate did so. Settling back into the armchair, the little man offered her the mug from the tray, which she took, and began to pour hot water from the little pot.

Once that was finished, he held up two of the four small tins and said, "Which tea do you prefer, miss? I have Camomile, Earl Grey, Jasmin, and Green. And I'm afraid to announce that there is little more to eat than these biscuits."

He gestured forlornly at the plate on the tray that contained four sad looking cookies. Cate felt oddly touched that he had gone through so much trouble for a mere stranger and one who had just crashed whatever party he was hosting.

"This is fine thank you," She said, offering him a small smile. "And Earl Grey is my favorite by the way." She pointed at the third little tin which clearly stated is contents on the lid.

"Ah yes," The little man set down the two tins he was currently holding and set about fixing her tea, taking the mug from her as well. "An excellent choice if I do say so, 'tis a favorite of mine as well."

While waiting for the tea to steep, Cate leaned forward, plucked one of the cookies from the plate, and gave it an experimental nibble. Finding the oatmeal raisin to be quite satisfying, she dove in with gusto. Then, upon noticing that her host was still standing, swallowed her mouthful of cookie and gestured towards the second armchair. "Why don't you sit down? You look about ready to fall over."

It was true. Now that she really looked at him, Cate noticed he appeared haggard and stressed. There were dark circles beginning to form under his eyes, his clothes still looked rumbled, and his fingers were red from all the twisting he had been doing to them. He looked about ready to collapse at any moment. Then she remembered all the men who had been in the room before and made the connection that perhaps they were giving their host a hard time. _She_ certainly didn't find much appealing about them. Especially the one with the long dark hair and deep blue eyes. Cate felt her temper begin to boil at the mere thought of him.

Her host looked positively relieved she had invited him to sit, because he instantly took her up on the offer. Crossing over to the spare armchair, he allowed himself to sink deeply into the soft confines of the material and leaned his head back while also expelling a long sigh of relief. That alone signaled to Cate just how stressed he truly was. She had half a mind to go search for these other men and give them a piece of her mind again, only this time for the sake of the poor man before her. If these men were his guests then why did he look so tired and overwhelmed? Well considering the manners on the ones she had a chance to actually talk to (Bofur and the other guy), she sort of understood. Bofur had been sweet, yet very blunt. The other was . . Cate had to force herself to think about the cookie in her hands or else the thing would be reduced to crumbs.

Perhaps she shouldn't go there.

"It looks like you're not having a very good night either." Cate said sympathetically, looking at her host out of the corner of her eye as she checked her tea.

The poor thing's eyes suddenly flashed wide open as he brought his head back down to stare at her in horror.

"Ah, no!" He waved his hands frantically in front of him and Cate had the sense she was staring at a reflection of herself. "No, that is . ." He trailed off, looking around desperately in search of some sort of salvation.

_'He's afraid of being rude.' _Cate suddenly realized.

"It's alright you know," She appeased, waving her own hands at him in the effort to calm him down. "You look like you need a cup of tea more than I do and that's saying a lot since I don't really know what's going on here."

That drew his attention. The little man gazed at her, a look of curiosity in his eyes. "I'm sorry to say, that is, not to appear rude miss, but, why are you here? And, I apologize, in my house no less? You do not seem to be apart of the Company."

Cate, who found that her tea was properly steeped and had set about removing the tea leaves from the mug, almost dropped the spoon she was holding. She paused for a moment, gazing down into the deep brown liquid and wondering just how to answer his question.

_'The truth would be best,'_ She thought. Though the question was, would he believe her even if she told him.

"I don't really know, sir." She admitted, not meeting his eyes. "One moment I'm sitting at home, reading a book and the next . . well, I dropped into your house. I'm sorry for causing so much trouble, but I'm not sure how to get back. I wish I did."

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and raised her head to gauge her host's expression. He looked extremely puzzled.

"Wandering wizards, a gaggle of Dwarves, a lost kingdom, strange maps and keys and contracts, and now falling maidens from my ceiling." He mumbled exasperatingly under his breath, though Cate could still here. "At this point, I don't believe anything else will surprise me."

Suddenly, something clinked in Cate at that very moment. Dwarves? Had she heard correctly? Were those strange men she had met, the ones she was barely taller than, Dwarves? What about the old man? He had been dressed in gray. Her host also seemed . . . The young woman turned her head and took a good long look at her host. Extremely curly hair, slightly pointed ears, and most compelling, rather large feet covered with thick curly hair.

"Miss?"

_'He . . He's not wearing any shoes!' _Cate felt a cold chill run through her.

The old man had mentioned Arda, Middle-earth. At the time, she thought he was crazy. Even before while she had sat before the fireplace she thought the idea was crazy. But . . the tiny man before her had pointed ears! And no shoes! And curly haired feet! She had noticed this before but it didn't sink in until just now. Her host . . was it possible? Was he . . . dare she say it? Was he . . a hobbit? Then, the short men from before . . they had to be . . Dwarves?! And the old man dressed in gray?!

"Miss?"

_'Oh shit. This is not happening. This is not happening! I am NOT having a conversation with a hobbit! I could NOT have talked to Gandalf the Grey! I am NOT currently sitting in the house that I've been dreaming of owning for the past ten years! I'M NOT IN MIDDLE-EARTH!'_

The spoon slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor yet, Cate didn't acknowledge it. She stared blankly at her host, not wanting to believe that the man before her could be one of the most beloved creatures in all of genre of fantasy. That she, quite possibly, was currently sitting in one of the most well known fantasy worlds of all time.

"I-I'm not . ." Cate murmured to herself, her eyes never blinking as she fully took in her host.

"Miss? Are you well? You have gone pale."

She could hear her host speaking to her and yet, the words weren't registering.

"Can - can you tell me," She began, finally blinking. "Where, where I am?"

Her host looked extremely uneasy, his eyes flitting side to side and shifting awkwardly in his seat. "You are in my house. Bag-end is it's name."

"Bag-end?" It appeared that this was not a dream. This was not a cruel joke. She truly was . . . "I'm in Middle-earth?"

The hobbit seated before her nodded nervously, yet quite puzzled all the same. "Gandalf must have explained something to you."

Cate nodded slowly, letting the reality finally sink in. "He did, I just . . I just didn't believe him."

"Perhaps," said the hobbit, beginning to stand. "You need something stronger than tea."

"I think you might be right. You wouldn't happen to have any beer, would you?"

* * *

**"She is from where?!"**


End file.
